


Control

by cloudypaws



Series: How to be a Human Being [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: #getfitzamonkey2021, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Skye | Daisy Johnson, Daisy Johnson is Not Okay, Depression, Found Family, Gen, Hydra Skye | Daisy Johnson, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Medical Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Skye | Daisy Johnson Needs a Hug, Skye | Daisy Johnson's Superpowers, Skye | Daisy Johnson-centric, Team as Family, hint of skimmons for ~flavor~, philindaisy, season 1 AU, ward is an asshole in every universe confirmed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 63,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudypaws/pseuds/cloudypaws
Summary: If she was enough to spook Melinda May, then he should be scared shitless.Because she had no control. She had no voice in the actions she could take. And someone who was bound to doing whatever it took to survive, even if it meant putting themselves in harm’s way, was even more dangerous than someone who had the power to decide.-----Several months after Coulson’s alleged death, he puts together a small, highly skilled team of agents to tackle cases that haven’t been classified yet. But on one of their first missions together, they discover that HYDRA has a dangerous asset that could change everything – a young woman known only as Quake, with vibration-manipulating powers and combat skills that far exceed her years. And while to the world she appears cold and ruthless, it’s clear to Coulson that there’s more to her than meets the eye.Season 1 AUNext update: March 22nd
Relationships: Phil Coulson & Melinda May & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Series: How to be a Human Being [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031640
Comments: 353
Kudos: 388





	1. Abysmal (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter serves as a prologue for the main story - it's a bit shorter, the rest of the chapters will definitely be a lot lengthier.
> 
> TW: self harm, torture, general topics relating to depression

Day in and day out, everything was the same.

Bleak, stark walls and a hard concrete floor; dim lighting sending grim shadows skittering across the surface every time any form of movement occurred outside her range of vision. The stillness of it all allowed her to feel every little vibration – every footstep, every hand gesture, every pin drop.

The energy of an angry man in a black suit roaring in hot, red bursts as his boots hit the ground with dominant, heavy _thuds_ all the way down the hall.

Cold, stale, stagnant air so suffocating it was hard to breathe. The smell of must and iron permeating throughout her cell, so constant she could hardly notice it anymore. The sharp screech of metal against metal as the stench of canned chili and hard bread was introduced to the room. The harsh, jeering voice of an officer sneering that it was all she’d earned that day.

_Do better and maybe they’ll give you a little bit of rice next time._

She’d stay awake for hours on end, staring at the door. Exhaustion tugged at her eyes relentlessly, but she refused to close them, refused to let herself slip into an unconscious state for too long. Days and nights blended together, becoming a jumbled, incoherent mess.

Every few hours she left her cell. They’d come and bring her to another room where she’d hurt or she’d kill, no hesitation, no questions asked.

Wide, scared eyes haunted her whenever she closed hers.

She did what she had to do. 

_Defy me and see what happens. Nod a friendly hello to Tongueless Thompson for me on your way out._

Sometimes she’d fight for survival – prove her worth to live another day. They’d put her through rigorous training; make her fight to the death blindfolded, inject her with drugs that poisoned her or slowed her down or altered her reality.

_Don’t show weakness._

Demonstrate her powers. Push to see just how strong they were. Don’t stop until they can _hear_ the bones splintering and cracking just below the surface – and even then, don’t stop.

 _Don’t_ ever _stop until_ I _order you to._

Sometimes she wasn’t good enough; the electric current crackling in her neck every so often would remind her that she’d _never_ be good enough.

_Earn your right to live to see another day._

And sometimes, she’d see daylight. She was an asset – they needed her out in the field, and she’d go with one of her superiors and do as she was told, again, _no questions asked_. Fight him, break that. Stab her. Quake it apart. Shoot them - all of them.

Leave no man alive.

 _And do it all with a smile on your face. Lift your chin. Widen your stance. Shoulders back, chest puffed. Don’t_ ever _let them see you falter._

When she returned to the cell she called home, she was allowed a shower. Under the lukewarm stream cascading down the back, she’d scrub the dirt and blood away, tallying up the innocents left dead in her wake on her arm – pale skin splitting apart, fresh blood mixing with filthy water and swirling down the drain.

The frustrated shout of a superior, yelling at her to _hurry it up in there_ causing sharp vibrations to cut through the air and bounce off the metallic walls.

The end of a shower meant the return to metal cuffs biting into her wrists, rubbing harshly against grotesque yellowing bruises and raw flesh wounds.

If she’d performed on cue and to their satisfaction, she’d get another meal. Meal size was contingent on how many times that static shock had traveled down her spine – how much she’d misbehaved. If she did her job perfectly, pleasing the superiors, she got to eat.

If not, then hunger would gnaw at her stomach until she couldn’t even think straight.

Her fingers were red and raw from absently chewing on them, nibbling the skin around her stumpy, bloodied fingernails.

 _You should be grateful we even let you shower today._

_You owe us your life._

Sometimes she had dreams in the couple of hours her body would shut down in desperate need of sleep where her tremors ripped the building to pieces brick by brick, quaking it apart and taking everyone down with it.

A phantom electric current that she unconsciously braced herself to feel would jolt her back awake.

She’d learned a long time ago that dying wasn’t an option. But there was a time where she’d _craved_ it relentlessly – desperately wanting to escape her fate, living for someone else, being dictated by someone else, a walking weapon of mass destruction just waiting for her cue to detonate.

Once or twice, she’d grinded the cuffs against her wrist until they cut deep, and she’d started to bleed out.

She woke up hours later with her wrists wrapped in gauze and a superior barking at her to _get up, you’re late for training_.

He brought her to the bathtub. He held her head underwater until her lungs screamed for air, burning her chest, until finally he dragged her head back up by her hair and she gasped and sputtered, coughing up mouthfuls of water. As she drew ragged breaths, anxious tremors building up within her that she was forced to clamp down, sending purple bruises blossoming up and down her arms, he leaned forward, his hot breath tickling her ear as he murmured the truths that she’d been so reluctant to accept before plunging her head back under.

_You are property of Hydra. Your life is not yours to take._


	2. Strike-Slip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kind feedback on the prologue! I appreciate it very much, and I apologize for the delay in posting this first chapter. Real life got in the way - and I got a little nervous, I really want to live up to expectations and make this story the best it can be. 
> 
> I probably rewrote this chapter three times. So... uh, I hope you guys enjoy it :)
> 
> Oh! Also, I generally really don't like OCs being a part of like the "main team" or whatever, idk I just don't jibe with it, but I do include an OC on the main team - don't worry he doesn't stick around. 
> 
> Also, TW: self harm, torture, general topics relating to depression

The San Andreas Fault is a continental strike-slip fault that forms the tectonic boundary between the Pacific and North American Plates. Running roughly 800 miles slicing California in half and about 100 miles deep into the earth’s crust, it could, theoretically, cause a magnitude 8 earthquake, causing severe, catastrophic damage.

Needless to say, earthquakes in California were fairly common.

There are many precursors to earthquakes, including higher water table levels, strange variations in temperature, and, most reliably, seismo-electromagnetic precursors that cause the geomagnetic field to be reduced, which, as a result, can adversely affect propagation of electromagnetic waves – which one can experience via radio, television, and telephone. And, of course, foreshocks; smaller quakes that lead up to the main earthquake. Generally speaking, while seismologists haven’t figured out a way to “predict” the next earthquake, there are systems in place that can warn civilians of tremors in progress or about to strike.

Which is why it was so odd that LA experienced a phantom quake last Tuesday with absolutely no warning whatsoever, no foreshocks, no precursors. Even more concerning was that it only affected _one_ specific area in LA: one medical office building in the outskirts of Angelino Heights.

Nothing else within that radius was affected.

And the icing on the cake; videos that surfaced on the Internet only about 10 minutes later of an unnamed “hooded hero” jumping out of the building, a woman in his arms, before the brick walls collapsed in on themselves behind him.

This occurrence only solidified the need Phil Coulson felt for a new team of fresh faces to tackle new, strange, and unknown cases.

Specialist Grant Ward had already been briefed. Plucked out of Paris and informed he’d no longer be flying solo, he was less than pleased, though certainly intrigued about Coulson’s very… _alive_ state. Nevertheless, he was onboard, albeit reluctantly.

Coulson also had three scientists he needed to visit at the Academy – a biochemist, an engineer, and a software analyst. He’d contacted the Academy to set up meetings for later today. But while he was at the base, there was still one more person he had to talk to.

“Melinda May. It’s been a while. How’s office life treating you?”

“Phil."

Coulson gave a friendly smile to the woman sitting at her desk, who merely flickered her dull eyes upwards for a moment to acknowledge him before turning back to her paperwork. Her lips tugged down in a permanent frown as she robotically gathered together a stack of papers, tapping the bottom of the stack twice against her desk to line them up perfectly, then slipped them into her stapler and pressing it firmly with a loud _clack_. Placing them absently on the tower of identical packets next to her, she turned to the organized piles of loose sheets on her other side.

“Really riveting work you’re doing,” Coulson joked. “You look like you’re having a blast.”

The slightest flare of her nostrils told him she was growing impatient. A tiny glance up from the papers at her fingertips said _get to the point, Phil, so I don’t have to do it for you._

_I already know what you’re here for._

“You’ve been briefed, I’m assuming?”

“My answer is no,” came the steely, one-note response of his old field partner.

“Mel-“

“I’m not going back in the field.”

“I know.”

May looked back up, her eyes dull and scrutinizing as she regarded him. To anyone, she might look bored or uninterested, but Coulson knew her well enough that he could read her like a book.

It was _then what?_ And _why me?_

And maybe a little bit of longing, maybe some nostalgia for the old days when they’d go on missions together and have each other’s back and goof off during briefings and tease each other relentlessly (May’s way of flirting, if he squinted). Coulson knew, even if she refused to acknowledge it, even if she pushed it deep beneath the surface, that Melinda May wasn’t happy doing administrative office work.

And, quite frankly, she was wasting her talents away sitting in her little cubicle.

“I just need you to drive the Bus,” Coulson explained. “Ground transpo, onsite supervising. It’s a team of rookie scientists and a specialist. We’ll be running ourselves, making the calls, operating without the red tape.” _And there’s no one I’d rather have by my side than you._

 _I miss you, Melinda May._

Her narrowed eyes said _then you don’t need me._ Her tensing muscles told him she was reluctant. To lighten the mood, he added, “This is where they actually _make_ the red tape, isn’t it? I always wondered.”

The corners of her lips twitched upwards, the tiniest flicker of warmth igniting in her eyes. “You’re really just asking me to drive the Bus?”

“I’m not asking.” Coulson smirked playfully, starting towards the door. Unable to stop himself, he added, somewhat giddily, “but it’s a really nice Bus.”

* * *

 _One. Two. Three. Hit._

_One. Two. Three. Hit._

_One. Two. Three. Hit._

“Too predictable,” he called from across the gym. “Switch it up.”

_One. Two. Hit._

_Two. Three. Four. Hit._

_One. Hit._

_Two. Hit._

_One. Two. Three. Hit._

“Use your whole body! Christ, what is this, your first day?”

A spark crackled in her neck. She recoiled, sucking in a sharp breath, before brushing it off, gritting her teeth, and hitting the punching bag once more.

_One. Two. Kick._

_One. Two. Three. Hit._

_One. Two. Kick. Three. Four. Kick._

_One. Hit. Two. Hit._

_Hit. Hit. Hit._

Dull aches exploded throughout her arms with every hit. She’d been going at it for what felt like an eternity, and her superior wasn’t letting up. Her bloody knuckles were starting to leave spots on the punching bag every time she hit it – her vision was starting to go fuzzy, her legs shaking as they struggled to keep her up. She hit the punching bag once more, surprised when it didn’t come back to her.

Her superior had crossed over to her and grabbed it, giving her a wicked smile.

“Tired yet?” he sneered. She clamped down a nervous tremor as it passed through her body, letting the matted floor stifle the anxious vibrations. “You’ve got an hour to go. I need you in top condition. Phil Coulson is _alive_ and building a team, and that changes _everything_.”

* * *

“I am Agent Jemma Simmons. And this-“

“This is- I am Leopold Fitz.”

“Fitz-Simmons.”

Coulson smiled warmly at the two young Academy students in front of him. Simmons was practically giddy, unable to wipe her excited rookie smile off her face, her whole body nearly trembling with excitement. Her partner, Fitz, stood behind her, nervously fiddling with the ID attached to his beltloop, casting little glances up at Coulson as he offered a shaky, unsure grin.

They were the spitting image of him and Melinda May so many years ago. May had been thrilled that her hard work was about to pay off, that a higher-ranking agent was about to recognize her skill as a rookie agent and want to recruit her for a team. Coulson hadn’t been so sure – all he knew was that he’d follow May wherever she went.

“You know, when I first heard about you, I thought you were one person,” Coulson started, cracking a humorous smile. “That’s how everyone talks about you. Fitz-Simmons – the brain. Topped out of your class after being the _two youngest ever enrolled_!"

“Well, there can only be _one_ youngest, sir,” Simmons clarified with a proud smile.

“As if that wasn’t enough attention,” Coulson continued, brushing her confident (if not perhaps a little smart-assy) remark off, “you recently mounted an unauthorized biofuel demonstration, the result of which-”

“-Was _her_ fault, her fault,” Fitz cut him off, pointing to his female counterpart frantically. “Yep. That was her, that was her.” Simmons shot him a glare, opening her mouth to protest before he cut her off. “It _was_ , it was you, you underestimated the propellant’s burn rate-”

“-You’re the one who increased the concentration and at that level of compression it was bound to-“

“Explode?” Coulson finished, an amused smirk playing on his lips at the young agents’ desperation not to make fools of themselves in front of a high-level agent. “It exploded, right?” He suppressed the humorous smile to add, “you’re lucky no one was hurt.”

The young scientists’ faces were priceless.

“We were the only ones in the blast radius,” Simmons quickly clarified. “Look, the powers that be didn’t believe an algae biofuel hydrogen cell could power a Quinjet so-“ She laughed nervously.

“Well they do now.” Coulson studied the agents as they dropped their gazes. “And the powers that be also recommended-“

“Told you we were getting transferred to one of the poles,” Fitz muttered under his breath to Simmons, who hissed at him to shut up.

Coulson suppressed another amused smirk. “Have also recommended you for my team,” he finally finished.

Again, their faces were absolutely priceless.

Simmons looked back at Fitz with a massive smile on her face, practically glowing with pride, while Fitz just stared at Coulson, wide-eyed and with his mouth open, like he couldn’t believe what the man had just told him. “The… field team,” he drawled incredulously. Coulson just smiled and gave him a reassuring nod.

“This… is an honor,” Simmons sputtered, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Her smile stretched from ear to ear. “Thank you for this opportunity!”

Fitz glanced nervously over at Simmons. “Yeah, we would love the chance to discuss it and think about it more, I think, _probably alone_ ,” he added pointedly. Simmons’ smile dropped as she looked over at Fitz, her eyes narrowing at him as if he’d just turned down a trip to Disneyland.

“Of course,” Coulson reassured him, though he couldn’t fight a flicker of disappointment at the young engineer’s unease. “Look, I know the field isn’t for everyone, some people want to remain behind the scenes. I get it.” He directed his attention towards Simmons, who still hung on every word he spoke. “But to be out there seeing the lives you’re changing… you end up being the most changed by it.”

As the two scientists left the room, Coulson heard Simmons’ chipper voice bouncing off the walls as she practically skipped down the hall. “Chin up Fitz, there’s nothing to be afraid of!”

Coulson chuckled to himself, a young May’s voice echoing through his mind; _Come on Phil, this is the chance of a lifetime!_

There was no doubt in his mind that Simmons would convince Fitz to join the team, just as May had convinced him to go in the field all those years ago. The sound of a knock on the door snapped Coulson out of his thoughts, and he directed his attention to the young man standing in the doorway, pushing his huge, round glasses up on his nose. “You, uh, wanted to see me?” the kid said nervously.

“Agent Tristan Kalmowitz,” Coulson greeted him. “I am-“

“Phillip J. Coulson,” Kalmowitz filled in for him, his eyes shining with adoration. Then, he burned a little with embarrassment. “Er, sir, uhh Agent. Agent Coulson.”

Coulson smiled. “I don’t usually get my middle initial when making introductions,” he joked. Kalmowitz gave an anxious smile. “Anyway, I hear you’re good with computers. I also hear you accidentally created a highly complex virus that shut down the Academy’s servers for a good four days straight. Even the professors who taught you everything you know couldn’t crack it.”

Kalmowitz’s smile faded. He dropped his gaze nervously, just as Coulson had witnessed Fitz-Simmons do just a few minutes prior. “Er, I managed to fix it though,” Kalmowitz murmured, glancing up hopefully at Coulson. “Just had to bypass some firewalls and develop a software that can hunt down that specific string of code and eradicate it, and then I-“

“I know, I read the report,” Coulson cut in. “Pretty impressive stuff. I’m looking for a computer whiz for my field team, you know.”

“Wait, really?” Kalmowitz’s eyes widened. “You thought it was impressive? _The_ Phillip Coulson thought I was impressive?”

Coulson chuckled. “Just call me Coulson. I’m offering you a spot on my team. You’ve got a couple days to decide – we’re boarding the Bus on Monday.”

* * *

“Mike Peterson went public.”

“Son of a bitch, we told him-“

“He’s trying to flee, sir, we can’t let him do that.”

“Goddammit, take Quake. We might need a distraction.”

She looked up sharply. _Quake._ That’s what they called her.

_Quake._

She felt their vibrations down the hall, their gruff voices bouncing against the walls and drifting into her cell, so she wasn’t surprised when the door suddenly swung open, and in walked two of her superiors – the angry one, and the one with the smile.

“There’s my little natural disaster,” the smiley one greeted. His jeering voice and massive grin always made her stomach twist with unease. “You ready to see some daylight?”

As always, she kept her mouth shut, simply raising her chin in a silent “ _hail Hydra_.”

* * *

Coulson had to admit, his plane was pretty sweet.

A specialized Boeing C-17 Globemaster III, specially modified by Stark Industries to suit the specific needs of Coulson’s brand new, handpicked team, it featured a multitude of extra cool features that made it more aerodynamic, well equipped both offensively and defensively, and incredibly advanced technologically.

And, well, it was pretty badass.

From the moment he parked Lola in the cargo hold, with every step he took through the massive, pristine plane, everything about it was perfect, right down to the very people standing in it.

Grant Ward – specialist.

Leopold Fitz – engineer.

Jemma Simmons – biochemist.

Tristan Kalmowitz – software analyst.

And, of course, Melinda May – pilot. _For now._

And, while Agent Ward was prickly, and Fitz-Simmons and Kal were a bit… socially awkward, and perhaps a bit naïve, he had full faith that he’d chosen the best of the best for the team, and that eventually they’d be able to work out their differences.

Even if, while he stood by the bar – his plane had a full _bar_ , how cool was that? – he could hear the voices of the younger members of his team drifting up from downstairs as they bickered among themselves. Fitz-Simmons chattered about the Night-Night Gun, and Kal and Ward had already gotten into a heated argument – Ward must have made some snarky comment because suddenly Kal shouted, “I’m trying to see from your perspective, but I can’t quite get my head that far up my ass!”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” May murmured as she passed by, her eyes straight ahead as she headed towards the cockpit.

“They’ll shape up,” Coulson called back. “Nice to see you too by the way!”

May simply tossed a look over her shoulder – maybe it looked ambiguous or annoyed, but Coulson knew it said something more along the lines of _it’s good to be back_ or _glad to be here_ or maybe even _I missed you._

Maybe.

Nevertheless, once the team got settled in, it was time to get to work. Their first mission together: investigating the “hooded hero” from the phantom quake.

* * *

The sky above was pale blue, swirled with wispy white clouds. The sun’s warmth kissed her cheek as she followed her superior towards the train station.

“If you see him,” her superior muttered, breaking her out of her thoughts. “Subdue him by any means necessary. We might need a diversion, be prepared to take the station down. Our agents are prepared to flee, so don’t hold back.”

She suppressed a gulp at the thought of bringing down another building. She’d narrowly avoided being crushed by the office in LA – her superior had miscalculated the stability points and it came down faster then they’d anticipated. Taking down buildings also took a lot out of her – her arms were still bruised from the last time.

“If Coulson’s team gets Peterson before we do, we’ve failed.”

* * *

Through Fitz-Simmons’ findings and Kal’s decryption of the video footage from the scene, they were able to track down the unregistered superhuman – a man by the name of Mike Peterson, who had a Centipede-issued artifact implanted in his arm, which pumped a combination of Chitauri technology, Gamma Radiation, Super Soldier Serum, and Extremis right into him. While this made him powerful, this also made him explosive. Fitz-Simmons gave Coulson two options – either he explodes, and they isolate him to prevent mass-casualties, or they kill him to stop the possibility altogether.

Coulson did not like these options.

They’d tracked Peterson to Union Station. After a fight with his former boss, in which he lost his cool and attacked, further exposing his powers to the public eye, the man had taken his kid with plans to flee the state. However, authorities tend to take notice when a superhuman has a public history of throwing large objects and harming other people, so it was no surprise that they’d separated him from his kid with the intent to take him down.

Coulson and his team had arrived on the scene just as the chaos had erupted in the station.

Mike Peterson was in the thick of it all, fighting multiple people at once, taking bullets like they were nothing. Coulson stopped short, holding an arm out for his team to halt as well as he scanned the crowd.

“There’s a third party here,” he muttered to himself.

_This team wasn’t supposed to see combat yet._

_This team wasn’t really equipped to see combat at_ all, _at least not yet._

And, turning to face them, his stomach flipped at how nervous the scientists looked. Simmons’ face had paled as if she was going to be sick, and while Fitz was clearly trying to hide how he felt, the wild fear in his eyes and the way he stood closer to Simmons betrayed his panic. Kal had taken a few steps back, his fingers twitching by his sides as he fought his urge to run.

Ward was, also, nowhere to be found.

May noticed the scientists’ nerves and stepped forward, meeting Coulson’s gaze. “May, take Fitz-Simmons to the top level,” Coulson instructed, feeling a rush of comfort having his old partner right next to him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Peterson throw Ward off, flipping him to the ground. “Kal, you stick with me for now.”

Without a word, May charged off towards the stairs, and Fitz-Simmons scurried after her. Coulson spun on his heel, starting towards Ward as Peterson bolted.

Two gunshots rang out in the air. Kal ducked behind Coulson instinctually, but they were nowhere near the two agents – instead, they were aimed for Peterson, who ducked and was lost in the crowd.

Ward stood, locking eyes with Coulson as he started towards them.

But suddenly a man bumped into Ward and Ward turned around and before he can react, two more men were on him. Coulson started to run towards him, when suddenly a surprised, scared shout sounded behind him, and he spun on his heel.

Kal was on his knees, hands held behind him by a young woman dressed in all black. A man in a suit stood next to them.

The woman had a knife pressed firmly against Kal’s throat.

Coulson narrowed his eyes, the blood roaring in his ears as his heart _thudded_ in his chest. Kal squirmed in the woman’s arms but she held a tight grip, the blade of the knife grazing the tender skin of his neck. A small amount of blood bubbled to the surface, earning a nervous squeak from Kal.

“Agent Phillip Coulson,” the man growled. “How many SHIELD agents are here?”

The young woman bristled, glaring at Coulson, but keeping the man in her peripheral.

“Release him.” Coulson forced his voice not to shake.

“Coulson-“ Kal sputtered, his eyes huge.

“How many SHIELD agents are here?” the man demanded.

“Six, including myself,” Coulson answered reluctantly. “Let my agent go.”

The man’s expression didn’t change at all as he regarded Coulson. Without even flicking his eyes towards the girl standing next to him, he ordered; “Kill him.”

Coulson could only watch in horror as the woman slit Kal’s throat in one swift motion. The young analyst could hardly react – his guttural heave was cut off as the woman let go, his body crumpling to the floor, blood pouring from the fresh wound in his neck. She stood her ground, her chin lifted coldly as her eyes shifted back over to the man standing next to her. Coulson’s throat was dry and sweat beaded on his forehead and he dropped to his knees, a wave of despair washing over him, filling his lungs.

_God, it all happened so fast-_

_This team wasn’t supposed to see combat-_

_What have I done-_

“Kalmowitz…” he whispered, cradling the young agent’s head on his lap. Kal’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as blood pooled up from his throat, a crimson tide dripping down the sides of his mouth.

The woman watched Coulson with guarded curiosity.

The man merely glared down at Coulson. “Take your band of misfits out of the field before more lives are lost,” he glowered. “You’re in over your heads.”

“Coulson!”

The man signaled to the woman and they quickly disappeared within the crowd once more. Ward stopped short as his eyes fell onto the scene in front of him. He crouched down, reaching his hands out to feel for a pulse, but Coulson shook his head, unable to speak.

“Son of a bitch,” Ward muttered. “Who were those guys?”

Numbly, Coulson stood. “We’ll deal with it later,” he murmured. “We’ll have to focus on Peterson for now.”

May’s voice crackled over the comms. “I have eyes on Peterson. Top level. He-“

Another gunshot. Fear pulsed through Coulson, and he reached up to his comm and asked, “Fitz-Simmons?”

“Here, sir!” Simmons’ voice shook slightly. Coulson sighed in relief.

Peterson’s body flipped over the railing and he fell to ground level once more, staggering to his feet. Coulson leapt to his feet and sprang into action.

* * *

_Kalmowitz._

Ice cold water soaked her matted hair, running down her back and dribbling to the ground with a loud spatter. The razor blade skated across her arm, long and deep, just once for the fallen young agent.

She couldn’t stop hearing that man’s desperate, horrified voice as it echoed through her mind, a plea to spare the young agent’s life. The scene replayed in her head over and over; the young agent’s skin was soft like a peach, splitting apart easily, the stench of blood hitting her nose as she slit his throat, the way his body crumpled as she tossed him aside, just another casualty left in her wake.

The way the superior – _Phil Coulson_ – had dropped to his knees, despair and pain written all over his face. The way he cradled his fallen agent’s head as he choked on his own blood.

_Kalmowitz._

She couldn’t silence the little nagging voice that growled jealously in the back of her mind – _Hydra agents don’t do that. If you were left for dead, they’d say good riddance._

Another little piece of her argued – _they’ll never let you die. They’ll use you up until they figure out a streamlined way to extract your powers and mass produce weaponized superhumans – then, they’ll take great pleasure in killing you brutally._

And maybe that part of her was satisfied in that ending.

But the nagging little voice told her Phil Coulson was a good man.

And that made things… complicated.

* * *

The rest of the mission had been successful, at least. Coulson had managed to talk down Mike Peterson and bring him in, and whoever the third party was clearly decided to shrink back into the shadows for the time being.

The team had been pretty shaken by Agent Tristan Kalmowitz’s death, however, and Fitz-Simmons spent the next couple weeks training with Ward and May on basic self-defense, so they’d never be blindsided like that again.

Coulson spent those weeks with rocks in his stomach. Between having to break the news to Mr. and Mrs. Kalmowitz about their son’s early demise, and then a meeting with Fury who was, quite frankly, pissed that his team suffered a loss on what was literally their first mission together, and Coulson’s own guilt over both losing such a young and innocent rookie as well as not even knowing who was to blame… Coulson spent much of those two weeks replaying the scene over and over and over in his head, dissecting every little movement he could remember, studying his own memories of the man and woman he’d seen, trying to figure out who the hell had killed his agent.

The man had to be with the Centipede project. There was no doubt in Coulson’s mind. Why else would he be there, why else would he have a team trying to subdue Peterson AND take down Coulson’s team? He _knew_ they were SHIELD and didn’t hesitate to order one of theirs to death just to make a point.

The woman, however, was what puzzled him.

She was cold and ruthless, following orders without a second thought. But that was _it_. She didn’t say a word during the whole exchange – granted, it all happened so fast, but still.

Coulson had a hunch. Despite the way her cheeks caved inward and the grayish tint to her skin, she still held youth in her features – if Coulson had to guess, she was not much younger than Fitz-Simmons. He’d also noticed the way she kept the man in her peripheral, as if hanging onto every word he spoke, awaiting orders like a dog desperate to please its owner.

Or maybe he’d spent too long mulling it over at this point, trying to justify what was practically kids killing kids.

God, is that what it was coming to? Kids killing kids?

How young were they recruiting nowadays for that woman to have skillfully slaughtered Kalmowitz like a sheep as if she’d done it a thousand times before?

Coulson pinched his temple, sighing in frustration. The whole situation sounded so Hydra, but they’d fallen at the hands of Captain America in the mid-forties. Hydra was gone. Long gone.

Then again, cut off a head and two more grow. That’s what they say, anyway.

Was it possible…?

They’d been quiet for _decades_ , though-

“Phil.”

May’s call snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see her leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Mel,” he greeted, an instant smile playing on his lips, which she unconsciously returned, if only for a split second before wiping it away and replacing it with her usual steely May-face.

“We’re being called into Peru,” she said. “An 0-8-4. Wheels up in ten.”

“Got it.”

She lingered in the doorway; her eyes trained on Coulson curiously – _something’s bothering you._

Coulson shrugged – _it’s nothing, don’t worry about it._

May’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit – _bullshit, but I won’t push it… yet –_ before she turned and headed back to the cockpit.

They arrived in Peru shortly after and found the 0-8-4 wedged in the wall of a temple. Fitz-Simmons went inside to check it out, accompanied by Ward as their final line of defense, while May and Coulson stood guard outside. While Simmons had politely argued that they could take care of themselves, Coulson wasn’t too keen on leaving anyone else unattended for too long, not after what happened last time, and he was proven right when Peruvian Military soldiers open fired shortly after.

May stiffened upon seeing Comandante Camilla Reyes, and visibly bristled when Coulson greeted her like an old something-more-than-friends.

 _That_ one Coulson wasn’t certain he could read.

“I know you found a strange object on Peruvian soil,” Reyes said. “We should have a conversation about how to proceed. I believe this object is tied to an earthquake we had in this vicinity not too long ago.”

That _also_ caught Coulson off guard.

“An 0-8-4 supersedes all national claims,” Coulson responded, keeping his voice even to disguise his surprise. “How long ago are we talking for this earthquake? We didn’t see anything on our end.”

Reyes frowned. “Right before we came here. Only a few miles north. It took down another temple.”

May raised an eyebrow. Coulson thought for a moment. “Any precursors? Foreshocks? Aftershocks?”

Reyes shook her head. “One isolated quake. It only affected the temple, took it down cleanly. If I didn’t feel the ground shake, I would have thought it was the work of rebels.”

Coulson’s stomach flipped, and he exchanged a look with May. Her eyes were guarded, and her jaw was set, but Coulson could tell she was a little uneasy. “California experienced a phantom quake like that recently,” he explained, being cautious to not overshare. “We’re not sure what caused it yet.”

Reyes tilted her head curiously. “So you’re saying it’s not related to the 0-8-4?” she reaffirmed. Coulson shook his head.

“The two instances might be correlated in some way,” he alluded, thinking back to how the emergence of Mike Peterson had occurred at the same time as LA’s phantom quake. It was a stretch, but anything was possible. “We’re not quite sure-"

He was cut off by the ground shaking below his feet.

Reyes looked up at him, confusion and suspicion etched in her face. “Another one?”

Coulson shared an uneasy look with May, who nodded in agreement. Into the comms, he said, “Ward, Fitz-Simmons, get out of there now.”

“Sir, the 0-8-4-“ Fitz’s voice sounded in his ear.

“Get out of there,” Coulson repeated, firm and tense. “Leave it behind if you have to.”

_Goddammit, I’m not losing any more agents._

May spun on her heel and started towards the temple. “Clear the area,” Coulson said to Reyes. “Have your men get everyone to safety without causing much of a scene.”

Reyes nodded, spinning around to direct her men. Coulson rushed after May, stumbling as the ground shook again. She stopped, regaining her balance before quickening her pace.

Fitz-Simmons were scrambling to put the D.W.A.R.F.s away when Ward shook his head, ran to the wall of the temple, and extracted the 0-8-4 himself. Fitz was _not_ happy about this whatsoever. “Ward!” Coulson shouted, getting the attention of all three agents. “Get Fitz-Simmons to the Bus, _now_. I’ll be there shortly after.”

With a nod, Ward took off with the 0-8-4, Fitz-Simmons right on his heels. Coulson turned to May, opening his mouth to tell her to go with him, but she stayed right by his side, her jaw set in a steely, tense manner – _I’m coming with you and that’s_ final.

Coulson nodded – _fair enough –_ and took off deeper into the temple, holding onto the walls for support as the ground shook again.

They didn’t need to stumble too far before they reached an opening in the tunnel, right in the line of sight of the two agents responsible for Kal’s death.

Coulson’s breath hitched. May narrowed her eyes.

The man stood in the center, his arms crossed as the young woman next to him crouched on the ground, her hands placed firmly on the floor of the temple. The man’s eyes locked onto them, and he drew his gun – a warning not to come any closer.

The young woman froze when she noticed Coulson and May, recognition sparking in her eyes. She sat up, her eyes trained right on Coulson, and now that her focus was shifted off the ground, the shaking stopped. 

“It’s them,” Coulson breathed. “They killed Kalmowitz.”

May shifted her gaze, letting it flicker towards Coulson for just a moment – _what are they doing here though? –_ before immediately looking back at the two agents in front of them.

The man glared down at the woman, who sharply turned her attention back up at him. “I didn’t order you to stop,” he growled.

The woman visibly flinched, and the temple started shaking again as she crouched back down, placing her hands on the ground.

“It’s her.” Coulson’s stomach rolled at the realization. “ _She’s_ causing the quakes.”

“We need to go before she takes this place down,” May hissed, taking a step back. “They’re going to bury themselves.”

But unconsciously, Coulson took a few steps forward, unable to take his eyes off the girl. The man tightened his grip on his gun.

“Come any closer and I shoot, Coulson,” he growled at the same time Coulson heard May’s voice behind him. 

“Phil!” May’s tone was sharp, and full of warning; an uncharacteristic note of alarm lacing her voice. Coulson stopped short. If this was enough to spook Melinda May, then he should be scared shitless.

But… his eyes trailed back over again, locking onto the girl. Her steely gaze was fixated on the two agents, her eyes narrowed into chips of black ice. Her whole body was tense, like a threatened, caged animal, and it trembled slightly as her power flowed from her, shaking the entire temple.

But seeing the two agents again and up close, it started to click into place for Coulson. Not breaking eye contact with the girl, he took a few more steps towards her, ignoring the man’s threats. “Hey,” he said softly. “You don’t have to do this.” 

“Silence him,” the girl’s superior ordered. Her gaze flickered up to him, then hesitantly back at Coulson.

 _She doesn’t want to hurt me..._ Coulson realized. He didn’t know why, but he was certain that was it. And if that was the case, then he was certain she didn’t want to kill Kalmowitz back at Union Station either. But when he saw the superior bring his hands together, one finger hovering over a button on his watch, he suddenly noticed, if only for a split second, fear flash across the girl’s face.

“Phil, get back here _now_!”

The girl’s brow furrowed in deep concentration as she lifted one hand up from the ground and aimed it directly at Coulson, all the while continuing to release seismic energy from her palm.

“Phil!”

His body was propelled backwards with such force it knocked the wind right out of him. He landed on the ground next to May, who immediately knelt down to make sure he was okay. Groggily, he met her eyes, and his stomach churned at the terror they held.

And as his gaze swept back to the girl, he suddenly could see what scared Melinda May.

It wasn’t the powers that scared her. They’d worked with enhanced individuals before, plenty of times, it was simply part of their job description.

It wasn’t the fact that this was the second undocumented superhuman they’d encountered since forming the team – though that fact definitely made him uneasy. Or the fact that the phantom quakes had been _caused by_ an undocumented superhuman.

And it wasn’t that they had nothing on the girl – no name to go by, no records of her existence, though all of that was unsettling.

What scared her was how the girl never stopped. How even though a crimson stream had begun oozing from her nostrils, even though deep purple bruises had started climbing up her arms, she didn’t stop. Her face was twisted in pain, her eyes narrowed in concentration, sweat beading up and dripping from her brow, but she didn’t stop. Even as she stumbled to her feet, widening her stance in an effort to brace herself, even as her sides started heaving as she started gasping for breath, she didn’t stop.

She didn’t stop.

“She’s gonna pass out,” Coulson breathed, shakily getting back to his feet. “She’s hurting herself.”

“That was her decision,” May murmured. “She chose this path.”

“No… No, I don’t think she did, it’s not her,” Coulson insisted again, but now that he was seeing it from May’s perspective, he couldn’t fight the horror that had snaked into his chest, constricting his lungs.

Because she had no control. She had no voice in the actions she could take. And someone who was bound to doing whatever it took to survive, even if it meant putting themselves in harm’s way, was even more dangerous than someone who had the power to decide.

“That’s enough,” the superior growled, but she must not have heard him in her concentration because she continued, her whole body shaking with effort. But suddenly, her superior just shook his head, his hand reaching over to the watch once more, and all at once the girl’s face contorted to one of fear but before she could do anything, he tapped the button on his watch and she recoiled, falling to her knees and folding into herself, her hands flying up to the back of her neck.

Coulson stiffened. May’s eyes narrowed.

“We need to get out of here,” she muttered.

“I’m not leaving without her.” The words left Coulson’s mouth before he could even process them. May sucked in a sharp breath.

“Phil,” she warned tersely, her voice cutting through him like a dagger. “We need to _go_.”

Coulson couldn’t take his eyes off the girl. Her sides were heaving with effort as she struggled to catch her breath, blood dripping from her nose, and as her superior towered over her threateningly, she regarded him warily, keeping him in her peripheral as she tried to regain her composure.

“Get up,” the superior ordered, his voice lowered in a menacing growl.

“Mel, we have to help her,” Coulson breathed, starting to reach towards her again, but May grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“We can’t,” she hissed. “We need to go _now_ , Phil.”

Again, the superior glowered at the girl, demanding that she get up. “You will be compliant,” he hissed.

_Compliant. Comply._

“Hydra,” Coulson breathed. May looked at him sharply.

“Hydra’s gone,” she hissed.

Coulson didn’t acknowledge that thought. Instead, he whispered; “We need to _save_ her,”

But the girl shakily got to her feet, her face contorting in what Coulson could only imagine was excruciating pain before wiping the expression completely off her face, leaving behind a mask of steely cold nothing.

Her chin lifted proudly, as if she’d just carried out her task effortlessly.

“It appears our company doesn’t know when to quit,” the Hydra superior hissed, and Coulson couldn’t help but to notice how the girl flinched away when he nudged her. His stomach twisted, his hands balling into fists as he took a step forward, ready to fight the superior off, ready to protect the girl.

May grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Come _on_. Fitz-Simmons and Ward are waiting for us.”

Coulson gritted his teeth, but May was practically begging him at this point, and Melinda May just simply _didn’t_ beg. Reluctantly, he unclenched his fists, and they started to back away, never taking their eyes off of the two.

The girl took a step forward, her eyes narrowed once more, and she held out a trembling arm, her hand outstretched. Coulson braced himself to be hit with her powers once more, but the Hydra superior merely pressed the button on his watch again. Caught off guard, the girl whimpered in pain, her hand flying up to her neck as she recoiled again.

“I didn’t order you to quake them,” the superior growled.

_Quake. Quake._

But they didn’t have time to linger on the thought. In came Ward’s voice through the comms; “Fitz-Simmons are safe, 0-8-4 is secure.” The Hydra superior raised his gun, pointing it at them. Instinctually, Coulson’s hand flew to the gun in his holster, but May grabbed him instead, darting away as the superior took his shot.

“Come _on_ ,” she hissed again. Then, into the comms, “We’re on our way back.”

Coulson cast one last, swift glance over his shoulder at the girl. She’d recovered and now stood straight, watching them through narrowed, icy eyes. Her hands were clenched into tight, shaky fists by her side, and even though she carried herself with Hydra pride, Coulson could tell she was still in a lot of pain just by the stiffness of her whole body. Her superior leaned in and muttered something in her ear, and she gritted her teeth, dropping her gaze but warily keeping him in her peripheral.

Coulson decided, right then and there, that he didn’t care what it took. He was going to get that girl away from Hydra, no matter what.

* * *

 _Next time you hesitate, I shoot._

Those six words echoed through her mind over and over as she sat in her prison, chained to the wall. They’d returned from Peru not too long ago – once they discovered that Coulson’s team had, in fact, recovered the 0-8-4 before they could bury it, she’d been ordered to collapse the rest of the temple and they had fled, not before her superior had whispered that threat in her ear. Her teeth gritted in frustration – she hadn’t frozen up like that in ages. She should be better than that by now.

But that man. Phil Coulson.

Phil Coulson – the one who threatened everything. The reason she was suddenly being thrust back into the field over and over. Hydra was losing their goddamned minds over this kind looking man who’d mourned his fallen agent right in front of them.

The smiley superior was practically tracking this man’s every move. He’d known about the 0-8-4 in Peru – sent her in to bury it.

To get another glimpse of the _very much alive_ Phil Coulson.

She’d frozen.

_Don’t ever show weakness like that again._

Her arms ached worse than they’d been in a _while_. The shackles on her wrists dug into the bruises in a way that made her want to cry. She couldn’t even curl her fingers without whimpering in pain; couldn’t bring her hands up to her mouth to chew away the skin on her knuckles, anything to detract from the microfractures in her arms or gnawing emptiness in her stomach.

_Next time you hesitate, I shoot._

A shudder passed down her spine, and for fear of turning her own bones to dust she let some nervous vibrations bounce off of her, sending them skittering across the filthy concrete floor. Her stomach growled loudly, sending an intense pain across her abdomen that made her curl up, desperate to suppress it. Again, she cursed herself for freezing up the way she had.

But that superior _cared_ about his agents. She couldn’t get past that.

And… what bothered her especially was the way he’d spoken to _her_. Even after he witnessed her ruthlessly killing his rookie agent, he’d reached out, his voice soft and gentle and _kind_ as he spoke to her.

_Next time you hesitate, I shoot._

If it came down to it, she feared that killing this man would be too difficult.


	3. Burnout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm absolutely amazed at the feedback I've gotten for this story so far. You all are so incredibly sweet, and I appreciate all of your lovely comments so, so much. This chapter was fun to write - I loved exploring May's POV a little bit, and I got to write a character who I've always been mesmerized with whenever she's onscreen (and you'll find that she knows much more than any of us, myself of course not included, at this point in time). This chapter lays out a decent portion of the groundwork for what's to come, and I really wanted to get it exactly the way I wanted it, so sorry for the delay and thank you for your patience. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this next chapter! :) 
> 
> Trigger warnings in the tags, but are as follows: past trauma, torture, panic attacks/anxiety, suicidal ideation, and potentially ED if you squint (that one is mostly added as a just-in-case).

At the temple in Peru, May realized two things.

One: Keeping an eye on Coulson was going to be much harder than she initially thought if he continued to run directly into collapsing temples (and that she was probably going to have to report for combat in order to prevent this man from dying… _again_ ).

And two: Whatever alien crap Fury had running through Coulson's veins must seriously be fucking with his head if he truly believed that Hydra was back, and that this earthquake girl needed saving.

Coulson's idealistic kindness proved to be a risk to the team when that Comandante whatshername and her soldiers hijacked the plane. Fortunately, they'd been able to regain control, and after a long day of finding yet another superpowered person not on the Index (and Phil's claims that she's somehow _not_ dangerous), being outed as "the Cavalry" by the rookies, and a Peruvian thorn in her side, May was ready for a shot of whiskey and a good, long sleep.

Of course, Coulson came to find her in the lounge as she was pouring herself a glass.

"Mel," he greeted. "I see you're enjoying the _full bar_ on the Bus."

She merely flicked her eyes upwards at him in exasperation.

"Isn't that so cool?" he continued, ignoring her subtle hint for some silence and solitude. "You can make, like, any drink you want up here."

"Lots of planes have bars, Phil."

Coulson snorted. "Well, you're no fun," he chuckled. "Pass me a glass."

May sighed. Accepting that she wasn't going to have her scotch in peace, she slid a glass over. "On the rocks or straight up?"

"Straight up," Coulson responded, nudging her teasingly. "When have I ever taken it on the rocks?"

May shrugged, a smirk playing on her lips to disguise whatever undertone was threatening to slip out in her voice. "I don't know, Phil, maybe something changed when you died."

_Definitely more than just your drink preferences._

Coulson shook his head, pouring himself a glass. "Perhaps. But I'm still the same guy. Just had a little perspective, that's all."

Perspective indeed.

May swirled the scotch around in her glass before downing the rest of it. As she got up to leave, Coulson grabbed her arm to stop her.

"I wanted to apologize for today," he started.

"Nothing to apologize for," she responded. _Not that I'm not pissed._

Nevertheless, he continued. "No, I know you didn't want to see combat, and I'm sorry you did," he said. "And… I'm sorry for what happened at the temple. But I want to track that girl. I really think she's in danger."

May raised an eyebrow.

Coulson let go of her arm, turning to face her fully. "I really don't think it's her, I think she's afraid. They're doing something to her, I just know it."

"Phil," May started slowly. "This woman that you are defending slaughtered a rookie scientist in cold blood with absolutely no hesitation."

Coulson flinched at that.

"Tristan Kalmowitz _did not_ deserve to die," she stated, her voice even toned and slow, making sure every word hit. "This girl – who you think is being controlled by a _dead terrorist organization_ – is a lawless, dangerous murderer with _zero_ regard for other human beings. And for you to defend her – for you to _want to save her_ – is an insult to Agent Kalmowitz, his _inconsolable_ family, and everyone on this team."

Her stomach felt sick as she left for her room.

* * *

After Peru, she'd had a rough couple of weeks.

The smiley superior had been less than pleased when the angry one brought her back in the condition she was in, and even more upset to learn how she'd frozen up, disobeyed multiple orders, and overall blamed her for the mission failure. He was right, of course; she didn't bury the 0-8-4, and Coulson's team got it instead. All of the pain she was in was simply punishment for her bad behavior – _she'd endured all this pain for nothing, please make it stop_ – and she didn't earn her right to eat – _but dear God she was so absolutely starving she couldn't even think straight-_

The smiley one knew that she was able to heal more quickly than others, so he gave her a day to rest and let her bones heal (even though he made it very clear that this was out of the kindness and generosity of his heart, and that she did absolutely nothing to earn time off). But the price was she didn't get to eat… again.

_After all, no work, no pay. You_ earn _everything in this life_.

She'd spent her day off curled up in her cell, watching the door and drifting off every once in a while; Kalmowitz's strangled, dread-filled cry echoed in her nightmares, his crimson tide bubbled up and up until it filled her lungs and gurgled in her throat, the air reeked iron and rotting and death, Coulson's absolute gut-wrenched horror, the desperation and pain written on his face burned in her mind, horror at _her_ , at what _she_ had done, God she was a _monster_ -

But after that day she was whisked back into training, and after two days of no food she was finding it _increasingly_ difficult. It was a vicious cycle – she didn't eat, so she felt weak and shaky and dizzy, performing lesser than usual, which meant that she didn't earn her right to eat, rinse and repeat.

_Worthless piece of-_

_You owe us your goddamn life, the least you could do is-_

The electricity coursing in her neck every time she underperformed didn't help, either. Constant pain and fatigue and starvation was taking its toll – her heart was starting to race at _every little thing_ , and all the vibrations were _so loud_ and _so overwhelming_ , and her chest was so tight all the time she found it hard to breathe, and she was so desperate to please the superiors but every day they were just more and more frustrated with her because every day she felt worse and worse and her stomach was tied into tight knots and rippling waves of nausea would seize her up and God it was absolutely _debilitating_ -

At one point, maybe the second or third day after her day off, she'd physically started shutting down mid-training. She'd been weakly hitting the punching bag and a superior – the smiley one – had shouted that _she wasn't trying hard enough_ and _she should be better by now_ and that she was _pathetic_ and _why did Hydra even bother with her_.

And to prove a point – to please him – she'd summoned all her strength and hit it as hard as she possibly could. It swung back, and the black spots that had formed in her vision blinded her from seeing it rebound. She'd stumbled back when it hit her full-force and fell to the mat, her head reeled and every single muscle burned and ached and her heart raced and, quite frankly, she thought she was dying.

Though, she wasn't sure if she was afraid of dying so much as she was afraid that they'd take it away from her.

The smiley superior marched over, grabbed her by the hair, and what he said right before she'd blacked out was permanently burned into her mind.

_If you don't get your shit together, we'll turn you back over to Whitehall, and he will rip you apart piece by piece and drain you of everything you have until there is absolutely_ nothing _left of you._

_And you will be conscious for_ all of it _._

* * *

May caught everyone a little off guard when she volunteered to infiltrate Quinn's party in Malta, _especially_ Coulson, who pulled her aside just to make sure she knew what she was signing up for. It was sweet, but she could handle herself, and quite frankly this team needed her expertise.

She wondered if this was Coulson's intended role for her all along.

(Despite the fact that _technically_ this team was put together by _her_ , not him, so _technically_ she'd set _herself_ up for this).

And as much as she claimed she enjoyed the papercuts and the smell of ink and the constant silence only punctuated by the sound of turning pages and clacking staplers, she sort of missed the exhilaration of combat, the adrenaline, the control she had in the field to make sure everyone was safe and that they carried out the mission successfully.

Because communicating with her teammates from the Bus where she wasn't able to do anything _sucked_.

They'd been unable to save Franklin Hall, but they _were_ able to secure the Gravitonium and deliver it to the Fridge. A few days later and they had their next assignment – a thief in Stockholm who had stolen diamonds with her eyes closed.

Coulson had recognized this thief as Akela Amador, his former protégé. Of course, his big heart got the better of him again, and he insisted that she deserved a second chance. That she was in danger. Something, or someone, was controlling her.

_Sounds familiar._

May was concerned he was becoming delusional.

"You told me that you were ready for combat. That you had my back."

"Don't _ever_ doubt it."

Coulson had always prided himself in being able to read "the ambiguous Melinda May." Sure, she'd always kept her emotions under lock and key, especially since… the incident, and out of all the people she knew, he knew her better than anyone else. He probably thought she meant something along the lines of _I always have_ or _just like the old days_ or even just a simple promise within that statement.

The image of the phone line to Fury burned in the back of her mind.

So, while in a sense, he was right, in reality he had absolutely no idea.

_Everything I do, I do for you._

"But you are defending this girl at the expense of our team," she continued after a beat, her voice a low and threatening growl. Fitz-Simmons shared an uneasy glance, and Ward shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably.

"Because we protect our own," he matched, holding her intense gaze.

Ward hesitantly cut in; "With all due respect, sir, she's _not_ one of our own."

Coulson's eyes flickered over to him in acknowledgement, then back at May, who set her jaw and lifted her chin.

Even if Coulson thought he could read her better than he actually could, her message was loud and clear.

* * *

Her eyes burned when she opened them again – a brilliant white light flooded her vision, and she was convinced she was dead.

But as the rest of her senses started to come to, her throat dried up. A beeping next to her ear sped up almost perfectly in synch with her racing heart, and a pinching in her arm made her eyelids grow heavy and her whole body feel sluggish and _this is how it starts isn't it oh God I remember this someone please_ -

"About time you woke up," a female voice muttered next to her. She looked over to see a redheaded woman standing by her bed – she was in a _bed_ , a white bed, and it was stiff and hard but so much softer than the floor of her cell; despite this, her muscles were tense and tight. The woman's arms were crossed over her chest and she was regarding her with narrowed eyes and a set jaw.

She looked _incredibly_ familiar.

"You don't remember me," the redheaded woman sighed exasperatedly. "I'm Debbie. You almost killed me when you quaked my office down in LA."

Oh. Right.

"Tell your handlers that if they want you to be at your top potential at all times, then they need to stop starving you half to death."

Her head was spinning, and Debbie's words were only half making sense. Those lights weren't so blinding anymore, but she still squinted as she lifted her hand, bending her fingers and studying it carefully. Strange tubing had been taped to it, but unable to decipher what it was for, she ultimately decided it wasn't her top priority. Flipping over her hand, flexing her fingers out, she scanned the room, taking in every surface, every corner.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a shadowed man in a white lab coat towered over her, holding something sharp and pointy that glinted in the harsh lights. A murmuring rumbled through her thoughts, a short, incoherent, jumbled sentence that she couldn't quite make out but somehow still managed to spike her heart rate again. A drug-dampened tremor clambered its way down her spine.

Debbie regarded her curiously. "God, if you can take down a building with just your raw power, I cannot _wait_ to see what you can do with a dose of the serum."

She suppressed a wince at the thought of being injected with whatever it was blowing up those soldiers, and all over again she had to remind herself that she had it easy compared to them – that she was one of the _lucky_ ones. After all, she couldn't think of a worse way to die – being blown apart from the inside out.

_Though, maybe dying on an operating table-_

The man's blurred face flashed in her thoughts again; his rounded glasses shining in the lights. Again, the voice – _his_ voice – reverberated in her mind, the words muddled somewhere in a corner of her mind where she'd locked them away a lifetime ago.

She thought for a moment that maybe she could smell latex and disinfectant and maybe iron – or maybe that was a figment as well.

Her breath shuddered as she exhaled, turning her bleary vision back over to the redheaded doctor. Her head was getting foggy, the man a mere ghost in her mind.

Debbie rolled her eyes. "You're really not one for conversation. Don't unplug your IV, and you're benched for a couple days. I've got places to go and people to see."

As her hand reached the doorknob, she tossed over her shoulder, "Oh, and that sedative will knock you out sometime within the next few minutes. Your superiors are under strict orders to sedate you every time you wake up. Your body quite literally doesn't have the energy to panic, so try to suck it up and relax, yeah?"

* * *

After escorting Amador off the plane, May had retreated back to the cockpit for takeoff again. She had a lot that she needed to mull over, and was eager for the welcoming silence and security that piloting the plane offered her.

Coulson had made the right call regarding Amador, and even if she'd originally thought he was too close to the case to make objective decisions, it was that very fact that saved that woman's life and gave her a second chance. Of course, that was something that specifically applied to Amador as a former SHIELD agent.

His stance on the other girl was more difficult to comprehend.

The superhuman they'd encountered was a similar situation, sure. Someone with absolutely no autonomy, taking actions at the very whim of their handlers, regardless of their own wants or needs.

Or if they were hurting themselves in the process.

But Coulson wanting to save Amador made sense because _Amador had been his protégé_. He had absolutely no relation to the unregistered superhuman. And if he truly thought she was Hydra, then they should be eliminating the threat before she became a bigger issue.

"Mel, you coming for dinner?"

She took her eyes off the sky and turned her attention towards the door. She'd felt Coulson's presence a few minutes ago – he wore that gentle, welcoming smile that always seemed to thaw her icy barricade. Flipping the plane's controls to autopilot, she stood, letting the corners of her mouth twitch upward in an attempt to return the smile; he frowned, clearly noticing she had a lot on her mind.

"If this is about Amador-"

She shook her head. "You made the right call," she admitted.

He smiled. "Everyone deserves a second chance."

"Not everyone."

Coulson sighed. "If I get a chance to save that girl, I'm taking it."

"And if I get a chance to eliminate the threat, _especially_ if she comes after Fitz or Simmons, _I'm_ taking it," May murmured tersely, holding his gaze.

Coulson stared at her helplessly. "You really think she's a threat?"

She shrugged. "Is it worth the risk if she isn't? Amador will get a fair trial – we know her, she was one of ours, and she was coerced. That girl will be Indexed and labeled a murderer. Or upon report, they'll simply put her down."

"We could make her one of ours," Coulson thought aloud.

May let an amused chuckle escape her lips. "Now I _know_ you're delusional."

Coulson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning his big, pleading eyes on her. "Trust me on this?" he asked. "Please?"

May pursed her lips, dropping her gaze. All logic aside, he _had_ made the right call when it came to Amador, even if May's first instinct had been to eliminate the threat. With a sigh, she murmured; "You know I always have your back."

Coulson smiled that big, dorky smile again. "I appreciate you, you know."

"I know."

"Come on." He turned, starting to head back towards the kitchen. "I made pasta tonight."

* * *

The next couple days had been a confusing, muddled blur of bright lights, incoherent mumbles, beeping and pinching in her waking hours, and darkness and the constant feeling of falling in her unconscious ones. Her head spun, her muscles felt like concrete, and she was so disoriented that she could have convinced herself it truly was the end if she'd had the mindpower to even form a cohesive thought.

At some point, the bright lights lingered for longer than usual, and the mumbling started to clear up, the words starting to take shape. A gruff voice next to her had muttered that "vacation's over," and before she was fully conscious, he'd ripped the tubing out of her hand and demanded that she stood.

She'd shakily gripped the sides of the bed as she sat up straight, her head whirling at the sudden motion, her stomach clenching up like it was going to be sick. But she complied – swinging her legs over the side of the bed and letting her bare feet touch the cold ground, slowly shifting her weight onto them, her raw knuckles white as she held on. Her superior's lip was curled in disgust, his brows knitted as he watched her with steel eyes, his arms crossed as she concentrated on finding her balance again.

He tossed her black uniform at her – she caught it at the last second, stumbling backwards, nearly falling back into her bed. "Get dressed," he ordered. "Let's hope you're well rested after your extended vacation."

Once she was dressed, she followed him blindly, expecting to be brought right down to the gym for training. As her mind was finally starting to sharpen up again, the sleepy drug-induced fog starting to lift, he opened a door and a breeze hit her face, the bright lights blinding her once more. She stopped for a moment, blinking to try and adjust to the outdoor environment.

Her superior grabbed her by the arm, and she stumbled after him, the shapes around her clearing up and coming into focus. As he started to drag her into a helicopter, she turned her face up to the open blue sky, taking in the puffy white clouds and the formation of birds crossing the horizon before the ramp closed behind her.

She'd lost track of how long she'd been in the back of the helicopter. From her view she could hardly see the windows, but she knew that it had gotten dark at one point, and then light again. She also realized that despite how long it had been since she'd had solid food, she strangely didn't feel hungry at all. Eventually they landed in front of a large building and she followed closely behind her superior as they marched inside.

"They requested your presence," her superior explained, "in case the new subject lost control." He scoffed. "They called him _Scorch_."

Somewhere above, she felt hot, blazing vibrations igniting, and suddenly it was burning through the air. She grabbed her superior's arm and ducked just as a burst of fire flew past their heads. Standing back up straight, he shot her a dirty look before ascending the stairs.

She scanned the room, her skin prickling with unease at the scientists and the machinery. In the center of the room, a familiar-looking brown skinned woman in a long, floral dress stood, musing over a Chinese man with unguarded intrigue. The man turned to her, a huge smile on his face.

"Your power is an amazing gift." The woman's voice was buttery smooth, and the Chinese man only got more fired up as he declared how the whole world will see the amazing things he can do now.

Her breath hitched. Her superior cleared his throat. "Raina," he greeted, his voice cold and one-note.

_Raina._

Raina turned her attention to the two of them, an innocent smirk playing on her face. The Chinese man seemed unbothered by the newcomers, instead igniting a fire on his hands and swirling the flames around, mesmerized by his own power.

Her superior continued; "I've brought Quake, as requested."

"Quake…" Raina's gaze swept across her, taking in the full sight. "Mmm, yes, it has been a while hasn't it?" Raina's silken voice sent tremors down her spine – she knew full well the effect she could have on people. The way she studied her made her chest jitter with nerves – her wide eyes swept over her innocently enough, but her gaze always seemed to pierce her as if she were ripping a hole into her soul and rummaging through all of her secrets.

Restless vibrations danced between her fingertips, and she straightened herself up, lifting her chin in an effort to contain them.

"Your father says hello, and that he misses you dearly, my girl."

She bristled at Raina's comment, but clamped down the buzzing that had risen inside her. Uncertain why or how Raina had managed to touch a nerve, she crossed her arms over her chest, casting a quick side glance to her superior, who motioned for Raina to follow them across the room. The Chinese man – Scorch? – paid no mind, too busy playing with the flames in his palm.

"Chan is quite pleased with the effects of the serum," she explained, her voice low. "It's enhanced his natural power _beautifully_." Raina's gaze swept over to her, and she dug her fingernails into her palms to redirect the vibrations back inside.

"Quake is to be stationed here until the procedures are complete." The corner of her superior's mouth twitched upward, an unreadable gleam in his eye. "Or until your subject explodes. Whichever comes first."

She did not like the sound of that.

Not one bit.

_Defy me and see what happens._

The superior removed his watch, dropping it in Raina's outstretched palm. "Use this if she steps out of line," he growled. Raina's gaze fell on it, interest sparking in her eyes. "It's her shock collar. Works every time."

Her stomach twisted as Raina studied it. "Which button is it?" she asked innocently, her slender finger outstretched as it reached for the watch. "This one?"

She cursed internally as the spark crackled in her neck and down her spine.

"And Quake," her superior continued, roughly lifting her chin with a harsh grip, forcing her to look right at him. Her eyes had followed the movement warily, and she'd suppressed a flinch upon contact. His gaze darkened as he regarded her. "You know what happens if you fuck up."

Her throat dried up, and she nodded a mute " _yes sir_." He pushed her away by his grip on her chin, and she stumbled back, quickly stabilizing herself and regaining her composure. Casting one last glance at Raina, her superior left.

Raina turned her attention back to her, and again she felt her probing gaze like a specimen under a microscope. " _Daisy_ ," she drawled, her eyes sparkling as the name lingered on her tongue. Something about that name made her chest constrict – she gritted her teeth, focusing on clamping down the vibrations rather than grasping at whatever imagery her mind had fleetingly conjured up at the sound of that one word. "What an _interesting_ fate you've found for yourself."

* * *

May had just finished up Tai Chi when they received a call from SHIELD's Hong Kong headquarters. Quan Chen filled them in – one of the Indexed superhumans Chan Ho Yin had disappeared. His pyrokinetic abilities had been revealed by a hacker from the Rising Tide, and after taking in their prime suspect, they discovered that Miles Lydon had sold the information to Centipede.

"First LA, now Hong Kong?" Ward frowned; his brow furrowed in confusion. "What kind of organization are we dealing with?"

"International. Well-financed. Interested in creating a super soldier."

Coulson cast a quick glance across the table to May. She met his gaze, narrowing her eyes just a bit. It was clear to her that he still thought this was Hydra – though, when he laid out the groundwork, she had to admit he made a convincing argument.

"Any idea what Centipede wants with Chan?" she asked.

Fitz piped up; "Hard to say, but Simmons thinks that considering he's pyrokinetic-"

"-There's a good chance that his genetics could stabilize the Extremis elements of the Centipede serum-"

"-Keep the test subjects from going-"

"-Boom!"

If that was true, they were running out of time.

* * *

"This is no test. This is torture."

Scorch's voice shuddered as he spoke. She suppressed her own shiver as she watched Raina and the redheaded doctor – Debbie – standing over him like hungry wolves out for blood.

"I won't let you," he growled, forming a fireball in the palm of his hand – the stench of burning flesh filled the air and he started howling in pain. She steeled herself, lifting her chin to try and squash down the tremors building inside of her, but her mind projected images of the man with the round glasses, and she dug her nails into her palms.

"-the reason you don't burn is because your blood platelets are fire resistant," Debbie was explaining.

"Which is why we're removing them," Raina added simply, as if it was the most casual thing in the world.

_Drain you of everything you have-_

_Conscious for all of it-_

The tools on the table started shaking, filling the air with a loud, shuddery clinking. She hadn't meant for it to happen, and quickly tried to reign in the vibrations, but with concrete below her feet she wasn't able to redisperse them anywhere absorbent. Begrudgingly, she let the vibrations rattle her bones, wincing only slightly before completely neutralizing her face again. Raina noticed her discomfort, however, acknowledging it with a bemused smirk. "What's the matter?" she cooed. "Remind you of the good ol' days?"

She narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin, squashing another quake before it could slip out of her control.

Scorch cast a pleading glance over to her before turning his attention back to the two women who'd turned around to leave. "Raina-" he begged.

"Keep an eye on him," Debbie instructed her, and she nodded silently in response. "Subdue him if necessary."

"Raina!" Scorch's voice grew desperate. "Raina!"

Her stomach flopped and she turned away, unable to look at him. He called again, but upon hearing the door slam shut, he directed his attention back to her. Her chest felt tight – his vibrations were red-hot with anger, sharp with betrayal and pain, and they came off him in waves so thick she felt she was drowning.

Scorch's voice was strained. "What about you?" he challenged.

She turned to face him, forcing herself to stand rigidly, rolling her shoulders back and puffing her chest, all the while her legs shook and her nails dug into her palms. His glare was intense, sweat beading on his brow.

"You've got one too, _Quake_. A _gift_ ," he spat. "That's what Raina called it. What will they do with _you_?"

Icy panic clawed at her throat, and before her mind could extrapolate that thought, stirring up all sorts of anxiety-inducing memories or fears, she squashed it down, pushed it away. Unable to answer, she turned her back, lifting her chin and balling her hands into fists.

Nothing. They'd do nothing.

They needed her.

_Hail Hydra._

* * *

"There. Heat signature confirmed." May handed Coulson the pick-lock device and he attached it to the door, busting it open. Upon entry, May quickly took out the guards in the room, standing up to find that Coulson had frozen in place.

"You again," he gasped, and she followed his gaze to see that he'd been staring right at the earthquake-powered superhuman, who took a few steps back, her expression completely unreadable.

"Coulson, focus," May snapped. Quan had gone over to Chan's side. May's fingers flexed by her side, ready to leap into action at a moment's notice. If Coulson wasn't going to take this girl out, she would.

But the girl seemed completely bewildered at the sight of them, and without a superior to order her around, she looked lost, unsure of what to do or how to react. Keeping her in her peripheral, she turned her attention back to Quan-

-Who collapsed to the ground, his body engulfed in flames. Chan stood over him, a malicious glint in his eye. He tossed a needle aside and it clattered to the ground. Dread filled May's chest.

He'd used the Centipede serum.

_Son of a bitch-_

Now she was going to have to fight two enhanced individuals, one of them on actual steroids-

Coulson stared in disbelief. "Chan, what have you done?"

"I've set myself free." His voice was low and dangerous, his muscles flexed and his fingers tingling by his sides as power coursed through his veins. May gritted her teeth. Before either of them could react, he shouted, flames erupting from his hands and bursting straight for them.

The girl sprang to action, leaping in front of Coulson and May, her arms extended as she released a quake that dissipated the flames away from them. Coulson gaped at her, his eyes wide, and before he could say anything to May she grabbed him and ducked behind some rolling racks.

Chan howled in pain as the flames licked up his arms. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, and he paced like a hungry animal, his eyes trained on the girl. "Who's side are you on, _Quake_?" he growled. "Whatever organization you choose, you'll suffer the same fate."

"Mr. Chan, I know you're in pain," Coulson called from his hiding spot.

"This is _nothing_!" Chan spat. "You were the ones _killing_ me! Forcing me to keep this gift locked up inside!"

May thought for a moment. "Chan, I'm sorry you lived a life you didn't want," she called out in Cantonese. "But violence will solve nothing!"

"It will keep me from being kept prisoner," he spat back, speaking his native tongue. Bobbing his head over to the girl, he added; "like _her_."

"Chan-"

"By you, by them, there's no difference," he continued. "I was given this gift for a reason. To burn bright!"

"There's no turning back," she warned.

"I don't want to go back."

Gritting her teeth, she turned her attention back to a hopeful Coulson, who hadn't understood a word they'd spoken. "So we're good, right?" he asked almost humorously.

Not even close.

Angrily, Chan lashed out again, sending a massive burst of fire towards Coulson. He ducked and rolled over to May just in time, but turned, his eyes searching wildly. "Quake?" he called, before lowering his voice and asking May; "Do we have a _normal_ name for her? I feel sort of lame calling her Quake."

" _Forget_ her," May hissed. "She can handle herself. Did his file say anything about him being _homicidal_?"

"Just that he was kind of a tool." Coulson sighed in relief as the flames cleared up and the girl came in sight again. "Mr. Chan, believe it or not, this could still get worse!"

And it did.

He called himself "Scorch."

_Quake and Scorch. Dear God._

They split apart and took him on from either side, but as Coulson started firing a round of ICERs, Chan created a fiery barrier between them, melting the bullets upon impact.

"Nothing can stop me!" Chan shouted as they ducked behind the racks again.

He ducked as a blast of vibrational energy shot towards him. Coulson spun around as the girl shot another blast from her palm, gritting her teeth. With a howl he directed his own blast of flames right at her.

"Quake!" Coulson shouted, starting to stand up before May grabbed his arm.

"Phil," she warned.

As the smoke cleared, Chan was nowhere to be found. The girl had crouched into a ball, shielding herself with her own barrier of vibrational energy. She stood, her eyes wild as she searched for him, then freezing when they landed on Coulson and May.

"Do you know where he went?" Coulson asked her.

_Great, so we've now decided that this "Quake" girl is one of ours officially,_ May thought to herself begrudgingly.

Though the word "prisoner" had stuck in her mind, and now, getting a closer look at the girl's ghostly pale complexion and sunken in cheeks, the way her black uniform didn't quite hug her thin frame, it seemed fitting.

The girl closed her eyes, her brow furrowing as she concentrated. May watched her curiously, but suddenly the girl lashed out her arm and quaked one of the doors off its hinges, as if she knew exactly where to go. She tilted her head for them to follow as she marched out the door, though May definitely noticed how she trailed to the side in order to keep them in her peripheral.

"That tranquilizer was his last chance," May murmured to Coulson. "You know that, right?"

He nodded. "Time to minimize the damage," he responded.

The girl's eyes flicked over to them warily before she turned the corner. May grabbed a couple of the Centipede serum needles before following her out, Coulson right on her heels.

The stench of burning flesh was overpowering, and the girl stopped short at the sight at the end of the hallway. A mountain of ash surrounded the burning man, and he studied his arms, his face twisted in pain and disgust. She took a step back, glancing warily again at Coulson. May skirted around, out of Chan's sight, as he turned to face the two of them. His gaze locked onto the girl, panting heavily as he looked her up and down.

"I won't be a cog in their machine," he growled. "Not like you."

The girl's eyes narrowed, her fingers twitching at her sides as her brow furrowed in concentration. May took a step back, her stomach twisting nervously as the girl suddenly shot her hands up, quaking him down.

"You still think you can stop me?" he snarled as she stepped forward, her seismic energy holding him down. "I'm not afraid of you!"

She didn't stop.

May watched as the power flowed from her, pressing down on his airways almost expertly, as if she'd done it a million times. Horror snaked its way into her chest as she watched the girl's face drain of any emotion, her fingers clenching as her power squeezed at his throat. Fear flickered in Chan's eyes and he gasped for breath, his palms igniting once again.

Coulson grabbed May by the arm and pulled her back. "We won't need the serum needles," he breathed. "I think her power can rival his."

"That's not very reassuring for us," May grumbled back, the realization causing icy panic to claw at her lungs.

If this girl's natural power could rival a Centipede-enhanced pyromaniac, the thought of what she would do when they inevitably stuck _her_ with the serum was… too horrifying to even begin to imagine.

The girl widened her stance to ground herself. Clumsily, Chan lashed out again, but his fire sputtered this time, bouncing feebly against the tile. Coulson sidestepped to avoid one of the flames, unable to take his eyes off the girl. Chan gasped for breath, his whole face contorting with sheer terror as he realized what was happening.

Without warning, the girl flicked her wrist.

A loud _snap_ echoed through the hall.

And both Chan and the girl collapsed.

May let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Next to her, Coulson let go of her arm, taking a hesitant step forward. The girl panted, her fingers digging into the ground as she tried and failed to get back up.

Chan was dead.

"Hey." Coulson stood next to the girl, who immediately snapped her gaze back up at him. He offered her his hand, which she studied warily before summoning all her strength to stand up on her own, taking a few steps away from him. He offered her a friendly smile. "You did good."

Still trying to catch her breath, the girl took another couple steps back, her gaze flickering from him to May. May gave her a reassuring nod, though her stomach still felt knotted at the sight of her.

"We should go," May murmured to Coulson. "Before they find us."

Coulson nodded in agreement before turning back to the girl, who suddenly looked very nervous at the mention of the Centipede team. "You could come with us," he told her gently. May shot him a look, which he subsequently ignored, stepping towards the girl and offering his hand again. "You don't have to be afraid anymore."

The girl looked down at his hand, then back up at him, her brow creasing. Somewhere in the hall, May could hear heels clicking against the tile. "Phil, it's time to go," she repeated, more firmly this time.

The girl must have picked up on the footsteps too, as she pushed past the two of them, casting one quick glance back over her shoulder, her expression unreadable, before turning and jogging down the hall towards the sound.

Coulson frowned, unable to hide his disappointment as he turned back to May.

"I was hoping-" he started.

"I know," May murmured. And, despite her better judgement, she added, "Maybe next time."


	4. Rising Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for being so incredibly sweet and encouraging and enthusiastic. I started this story thinking “oh it’s just another HYDRA Skye story, everyone’s probably seen this a thousand times, I just sort of feel like doing some character study exercises and style exploration” and I really didn’t expect people to follow it, so to see all of you down in the comments getting excited about where it’s going truly makes me so inspired. You’re all so lovely and you all make me so happy :) 
> 
> Without further ado, time for some angst. (Oh, and happy holidays!) 
> 
> (TW: self-harm, torture, trauma, violence, suicidal ideation, slight ED if you squint)

Hong Kong's brooding, muddled night sky gave a cold and unfriendly farewell as she boarded the helicopter.

The ride home was tense, her superior's vibrations taut and frigid. He hadn't spoken a word to her, hadn't turned his head to even look at her. She couldn't understand why or what she'd done wrong – her order was "subdue if necessary," and it _had_ been necessary.

(And Scorch had been scared and angry, rightfully so. He hadn't asked for _any_ of it – the high rising pitch of his begging and pleading still rattled in her mind. She wondered if he was like _her_ , forcibly given powers that he hadn't wanted, his life changing abruptly forever. He hadn't seen the fine print before signing his life away, hadn't been read his rights or even treated like a _human being_ , instead he was simply Hydra's lab rat, used up and thrown away when they were done with him.)

(A small voice in her head sneered _you're next_.)

Instead of dwelling on the life she'd taken, her mind harped on fears of what her superior would do to her for screwing up. In the back of the helicopter, she pulled her knees up to her chest and gnawed at her knuckles, watching him warily in her peripheral, replaying the incident with Scorch over and over to try and find her fault, waiting for the storm to hit.

As the steady vibrations of solid ground approached, the first few raindrops _thudded_ against the aluminum.

And her superior stepped out, opened the door wordlessly, and calmly brought her back to her cell.

(She'd turned her face up to the sky, if just for a moment, letting the raindrops kiss her cheeks and the wind rip through her hair – her eyes searched desperately for the pale glow of moonlight, only to be met with foreboding, rolling dark clouds.)

She'd been allowed a shower and welcomed the cool cascade down her back. The _pattering_ of the water against the tile drowned out the voices in her mind berating her, the ones shouting _wrong wrong wrong_ , the guilt that had been gnawing at her chest ever since LA.

(The tally marks on her wrists told her how many more bodies were trailing in her wake; that one long one down her arm that screamed _Kalmowitz_ was met that night with another that intersected, uncoincidentally over a stray burn mark from a rogue lick of a flame, reminding her of the enhanced she'd killed – a cautionary tale for her own fate.)

They brought her a mysterious lump of meat and a limp pile of reheated blanched broccoli. Although it had occurred to her that she hadn't eaten solid food in what was supposedly days, she found it hard to choke it down with her knotting stomach.

_You didn't earn this._

_They're upset._

_You did something wrong._

What she could imagine were a few hours' worth of time passed quietly; she sat in the corner of her cell, cuffs digging into her stinging arms, her knees pulled up to her chest and her knuckles clenched firmly between her teeth. Her eyes didn't move from the door – she was certain that the second she let her guard down they'd come and they'd _do something_ because she'd _done something wrong_ , she _had_ to have. Obsessively, she dissected her actions in Hong Kong and when her mind landed on Raina, she quickly pushed that aside, determined not to follow where that path might lead.

(She hated the way her dinner rolled in her stomach and the vibrations simmered uneasily beneath her skin as Raina's buttery voice whispered those _words_ over and over, and despite her best efforts they lingered at the forefront of her mind.)

_Your father misses you-_

_Daisy Daisy Daisy-_

Time passed agonizingly slow. The harsh, hostile vibrations of boots _thudding_ down the hall jolted her out of her spiral, bringing her back down to earth.

(She only came to realize as she was ushered to the gym that the persistent taste of iron coating her tongue had in fact come from chewing her fingers raw, and quickly wiped some of the remaining blood bubbling in her cuticles on her pantleg to hide the evidence because _her life isn't hers to_ -)

The smiley superior was nowhere to be found, which was odd. He usually took care of her training, and the angry one was the one who took her into the field. She didn't question it – she almost preferred the angry one anyway, at least he didn't smile like he enjoyed seeing her in pain.

But the angry one was still quiet, and it was making her chest constrict, like a snake had coiled around her lungs. She dug her stumpy nails into her palms, practically begging her airways to function, pleading with her heart to stop fluttering like a bird trying to escape a cage.

He wordlessly pointed to a spot on the bleacher and her shaking legs carried her there, her hands wringing each other on her lap as she watched him study her like a lab rat, his gaze sweeping across her like a hungry beast who'd cornered his prey. Though his expression was stoic, his vibrations roared at her with such intensity she nearly shrunk away; she actively focused on taking her own vibrations and bouncing them down to the mat underfoot, letting the high-impact foam absorb them so her bones wouldn't have to rattle again.

"Raina tells me SHIELD infiltrated the lab," he finally said. She dropped her gaze, studying her bloodied fingernails. "She said Phil Coulson was there."

His vibrations indicated that he'd taken a step closer, and warily she lifted her gaze, letting a shudder pass down her spine and dispersing the vibrations into the mat again.

"You wanna explain what happened? Because Raina told me you had every chance to take him in, and you let him go." His scrutinizing eyes bore into her, and she bit the inside of her cheek, her whole body trembling. "For crissakes," he muttered. "Permission to speak. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put you down _right now_ , because you've been on thin ice for a while."

A small tremor slipped from her grasp, and she quickly redirected it down into the mat, hoping and praying he didn't feel it. He narrowed his eyes, his finger hovering over _that button_ on his watch. "I'm fucking serious," he growled. "Explain yourself _right now_. You've been less than compliant recently, so either shape the fuck up or I swear to God I'll have you back on the operating table so fucking fast-"

Her throat felt like sand and her heart _thudded_ in her chest so hard she could swear he could hear it. She drew a shuddery breath, her voice coming out in a hoarse, raspy wheeze. "I-"

It _burned_. Her unpracticed voice gave a strange rumble in her airways, and she cleared her throat, trying to focus it into one cohesive sound, but she couldn't remember the last time they'd allowed her to speak and she wasn't sure if she even knew how to anymore.

"You _what_ ," the superior spat.

"I didn't-" Her breaths shuddered in her lungs, and she dug her fingernails in her palms in a feeble attempt to steady herself. "It wasn't… It's-" She squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to quiet the whirling in her head and the blood roaring in her ears, before finally spitting out; "Not- my… orders…"

She'd felt his vibrations spike but still hadn't expected his fist to connect with her jaw.

"You fucking-"

The recoil had twisted her sideways; she brought a shaky hand up to her face to rub the tender spot. Blood pooled in her mouth, and she ran her tongue over a scrape on her gum from what she'd assumed was impact from her teeth.

The superior glowered at her, his vibrations a raging fire. "Disrespectful little shit," he growled. "On what fucking planet- Had it not occurred to you that we are literally _tracking_ their every move? Do you think it's a goddamned _coincidence_ that we keep 'bumping into' Phil Coulson's team? Or that they keep showing up to fuck with our progress on the Centipede Project? What part of 'they're the enemy' do you _not_ understand?" She couldn't stop herself from shrinking under him as his eyes blazed with fury. "Enlighten me, because I'd _love_ to fucking know how in the hell _any_ of that got lost in translation."

He looked at her expectantly, and she worked at her nerve to speak again. "I-" The blood in her mouth gurgled in the way of her words, and she swallowed it, the lump rolling down her throat and making her stomach churn sickeningly. "It wasn't-"

"It wasn't _what_?" The superior balled his fists again, and she immediately flinched away, preparing herself for another blow. "If you're trying to tell me that you knew _full well_ that Phil Coulson is a threat, that we've been trying to bring him in ever since learning that he was _still alive_ , and you _still_ let him go-"

" _No_ , it wasn't-"

Pain blossomed in her cheekbone, cutting her off mid-beg. She recoiled again, her nose throbbing at the impact, blood dripping from her nostril and trailing down to her upper lip. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and disgusted, she lifted her chin, trying to get them to dissipate before they spilled over, _determined_ not to cry in front of him.

_(Crying will make it worse, crying will make it worse, don't show weakness-)_

"I'm getting real sick of your fucking attitude," the superior hissed, leaning in so close she could feel his hot breath on her skin. He grabbed her by the neck; a powerful quake bubbled up inside of her. Gritting her teeth, she clamped down on it, letting it rattle her bones, her whole body giving a light shudder in response. His voice was scathingly slow as he spoke, his eyes blazing as they bore into hers. "You are property of Hydra. You follow orders. You do _not_ get to decide who lives and who dies. And if you continue to allow Phil Coulson and his ragtag team of misfit toys to slip through your fingertips, you will be considered Hydra's _traitor_. And you fucking _know_ what we do with traitors. Are we clear?"

Her lungs burned and screamed for air as she gave him a stiff nod. He tightened his grip on her neck and snarled; "Are. We. Clear."

"Yessir," she sputtered, and he released her. She slumped back into the bleacher, her eyes glazed as she rubbed her neck. The metallic taste of blood still clung to her gums, the warm, sticky trickle from her nose dripping and spattering crimson onto the matted gym floor. Her arms crossed over her chest and she rubbed her arms, trying to soothe her own nerves, her breath shuddering in her lungs as her superior towered over her.

"Twenty laps."

Her body felt like cement, and she felt strangely absent, her head whirling in a dense fog. Her chest felt hollow and her stomach felt sick as she continued rubbing her arms, her eyes unseeing, the pain in her face dulling and numbing in the background. A harsh shock crackled in her neck, and she closed her eyes, letting the pain course through her before it faded into that same numb nothing.

"Twenty laps, _now_."

Unconsciously, she stood, her head feeling waterlogged and her chest tight with pressure. In a dazed state, she felt her legs start carry her around the perimeter of the gym.

* * *

"You did _what_?"

Ward shook his head, pacing back and forth by the holotable. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed as he processed what Coulson had told him; May cast a knowing glance over to Coulson, a " _told you it was a bad idea to tell everyone"_ look that he was well used to receiving from her. Fitz-Simmons glanced at each other in a way that was not unlike Coulson and May's silent communication.

Ward sighed, turning back to face them all. "Sir, with all due respect, offering a dangerous enhanced enemy a spot on the team probably breaches a number of regulations, and is definitely against protocol. And for good reason."

"I think it would be great," Simmons offered enthusiastically. "If she can cause earthquakes like you said, then I'd _love_ to study her biology, cut her open and get a blood sample to work with, see how her DNA differs from ours and how exactly her powers work-"

"Or if it's manmade," Fitz cut in, his eyes sparkling. "She could have technological enhancements far beyond what we've seen before. If they happen to be the same people who made the prosthetic eye-cams, I can't even begin to imagine how they'd enhance someone to give them seismokinetic powers-"

"Or if it's the Centipede serum," Simmons added. "How did they enhance the serum itself to give human beings abilities-"

"She would have blown up by now if it was the serum," Fitz pointed out. He pondered for a moment. "I wonder if her powers are simply seismic or vibrational, 'cause if they're vibrational that could potentially make her-"

Simmons jumped in, her pitch rising with excitement; "-Avengers-level powerful, because if she can manipulate the vibrations in things then technically she could do _so much more_ then earthquake generation, she could create shockwaves-"

"-Vibrate water molecules-"

"-Manipulate sound frequencies-"

"-Tear _anything_ apart at a _molecular level_ -"

"Guys," Ward cut them off, shaking his head again. "You're missing the point. This is the girl who killed Agent Kalmowitz in cold blood. She's the one who collapsed the temples in Peru. And she just quaked the pyrokinetic to death – May said she snapped his neck with a flick of her wrist."

Simmons nudged Fitz and singsonged; "Shockwaves!"

Ward pinched the bridge of his nose before turning to look pointedly at Coulson. "If you want my opinion, sir, I don't feel comfortable having her on the plane."

Coulson glanced over at May, who stiffened next to him, returning his gaze hesitantly. He knew she was still wary of the girl, but as they had left Hong Kong, she'd mentioned to him that she didn't think his theory on the whole thing was too farfetched after all – _but_ that they shouldn't mention Hydra to the team, not just yet anyway.

"Guess you're lucky she turned us down then," May murmured wryly.

"Well, she didn't _technically_ turn us down," Coulson pointed out. "She didn't actually _say_ anything. Huh... Have you ever heard her speak? You think she _can_ speak?"

May rolled her eyes at him, the corners of her mouth twitching into the ghost of a smirk.

"Did she appear to have any technological enhancements?" Fitz wanted to know, but was overlapped by Simmons excitedly saying something about wanting to know whether it was "manipulated or hereditary genetics."

"Wouldn't it be safer to put her down?" Ward asked, casting a disgruntled glance at the overly enthusiastic scientists. "I have no problem crossing her off if I need to."

"I suppose I can still study her DNA if she's dead," Simmons sighed dejectedly. "But I was sort of excited to have another girl on the plane, no offense boys."

"If Simmons gets a girl, can I have a monkey?" Fitz piped up.

"Ugh, Fitz-"

"Guys!" Ward snapped, before turning back to Coulson. "What are my orders, sir?"

"Don't shoot," Coulson responded. "I won't deny she's a threat. But I think we can get her on our side. I think she'd be a real asset if we can."

Ward sighed. "Tristan, sir."

"I know." Coulson glanced over at May, who'd dropped her gaze. He knew full well her stance on _that_ particular matter, but he also knew from the way her brows knitted together and the downward tick of her lips that she was conflicted. "But I don't think she really has any control over her own actions. She follows orders without a choice."

"With all due respect, sir, if she comes after Fitz or Simmons, I'll have to disobey mine."

Coulson didn't have too long to dwell on the subject – the next week was jam-packed with dangerous missions that put his new team to the test.

Only a couple days after Hong Kong, they'd gone to Pennsylvania to investigate a floating body, the cause of which stemmed from an alien virus that had been lying dormant on a Chitauri helmet. Spread via electric shock, the infected only had a brief amount of time before their brain would be struck with two thousand megajoules of electricity; and then, they'd float.

Everyone's worst fears came true when Jemma Simmons was infected.

Ward paced the plane, his fists clenched and his teeth gritted. Powerless to do anything, he whirled around and slammed his fist against the wall upon realizing that Simmons' life was being threatened by something he couldn't fight for her. Rhythmic, dull _thudding_ followed shortly after by grunts and angry shouts echoed through the plane when May finally sent him downstairs to release some steam.

May, like the rock she was, kept a level head and a calm presence for everyone, but Coulson could clearly see by the minute way her brows tugged together and the subtle tightness in her jaw just how worried she truly was. This, and the way she flitted around from the lab to the cockpit to the cargo area to Coulson's office, restlessly checking up on everything and everyone. When he'd stopped her in her tracks to ask how she was doing, she'd simply responded that she was going to go see how _Ward_ was doing.

Her voice had a slight waver to it and her eyes were glassy, as if with every passing minute the reality of the situation sunk in more and more, and because, like Ward, Melinda May _hated_ being unable to take care of the people she cared about.

Coulson admired Fitz. The way he never left Simmons' side while she rushed to find a cure, how he encouraged her and tried so hard to be upbeat and keep her hopeful, was commendable to say the very least.

Again, the duo truly reminded him of himself and Mel in their youth – always sticking together through good times and bad, always having each other's' backs. Even the way they spoke he could see similarities, as if they were having one cohesive thought relayed through two separate beings.

They'd sat back-to-back against the glass of the laboratory door, Simmons running around frantically, Fitz encouraging her and cracking jokes to break through the thick fog of despair that had settled on the plane. This carried on until Fitz had gone in, the helmet under his arm, and physically exposed himself to the Chitauri virus, because they were a team, they were in it together.

Because he would never, ever leave her side.

Even if it meant risking exposure to a deadly alien virus.

But two dead mice and one used parachute later, Simmons was cured.

And as the leader of the team, Coulson had to be stern with Simmons and reprimand her for throwing herself off the plane, but from the uneasy stir in his stomach and the way his heart had skyrocketed its way to his throat upon realizing what she'd done, he couldn't help feeling a little bit like a father yelling at his kid for leaving the house without permission – the shock of " _don't you_ ever _scare me like that again_ " paired with immense relief at seeing her standing there in front of him, alive and well and able to receive an earful for her actions only added to this sensation.

From the way May's entire body had relaxed, releasing whatever tension had tied up her muscles, he'd venture to guess that she felt that same strange parental feelings – though she would _most definitely_ kick his ass if he ever brought it up.

Not even twenty-four hours had passed when Coulson was alerted that he would lead an extraction team with May and Ward for Agent Shaw in Siberia, who had recovered intel on a weapon built by South Ossetian separatists. After extracting the storage device with all of the information from his nose – not Coulson's _first_ choice for storage, but given the other orifices on the human body, he had to be at least a little relieved – they all took a trip to the Hub.

As Fitz-Simmons scurried off to the science labs, Coulson, May, and Ward headed to the briefing, where they were told that Ward and Fitz were to be the ones to go in and shut down the weapon. A twinge of concern had flickered in Coulson's chest at the thought of sending his somewhat clumsy, still inexperienced, and incredibly endearing engineer into dangerous territory to dismantle something called the _Overkill_ Device ( _especially_ after nearly losing his female counterpart quite literally a day ago), but nevertheless he had faith that Fitz could hold his own in the field – and of course, having Ward by his side wouldn't hurt.

However, learning that they did not, in fact, have an extraction plan, changed everything.

Coulson wasn't sure _how_ May found out. But he was more than grateful to learn that she'd already set a course to Russia – even if she hadn't confirmed with him. They'd dropped in just in time to extract Ward and Fitz as they were surrounded at gunpoint, had a spaghetti dinner to celebrate three-fifths of the team cheating death in a matter of forty-eight hours, and everyone turned in for the night.

"How did you find out?" Coulson asked May after Fitz-Simmons and Ward left to play cards. She glanced over from the dish she was washing for a second before looking right back down at the soapy water, taking extra time to scrub a stray patch of tomato sauce.

"I was looking into other things," she said carefully. "Stumbled upon the file."

"What other things?" Coulson chuckled, though the way she was speaking made him uneasy. Because sure, they didn't always "communicate" openly, but they would never _hide_ things from each other. But the way her tone had shifted ever so slightly made it sound like she was choosing her words, reluctantly tiptoeing around the truth.

She rinsed off her dish and placed it on the drying rack. "Hand me that pot."

Coulson raised an eyebrow but complied. "Everything alright?"

She nodded and began scrubbing before saying after a beat; "I searched our databases for the girl. Found nothing."

"Oh," Coulson murmured. "Is that it?"

May nodded curtly, staring intently at the pot she was scrubbing.

That wasn't it, but she wasn't going to tell him. That much was crystal clear.

"You found _nothing_ on the girl?" Coulson backtracked. She shook her head.

"She's not anywhere on file," May elaborated, rinsing the pot. "I ran some facial recognition, conducted a mass search for the word 'quake.' Absolutely nothing."

"Interesting." Coulson didn't know what else to say.

"It's like she doesn't exist." May grabbed a towel and started drying the pot by hand.

Coulson frowned. "Well, we _know_ she exists."

May's eyes flicked exasperatedly up at him in a _"no shit, Sherlock"_ fashion, before stowing the pot away in one of the cabinets. She turned to rinse the dish soap off of her hands.

"I just mean," Coulson quickly added, "that the whole thing is weird, usually we're able to find _something_. Nothing on social media? No news reports with her in it? _Nothing_ that can trace her to a real name, or a past life, or _anything at all_?"

"Not a thing." May turned off the tap, dried her hands, and folded the towel neatly back on the counter. "How are you feeling?"

Coulson frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "How am I…?"

"Any trouble sleeping? Aches? Pains?"

He cocked his head. "I'm fine, Mel. Where is this coming from?"

She shrugged. "You've had a rough couple days."

He shook his head. "If that's the case, how are you?"

She studied him for a moment through narrowed eyes. "I'm good. You should get some rest. You're not exactly a spring chicken anymore."

Coulson's jaw dropped in mock offense. "Excuse me? Of all the chickens on this Bus, I have the _most_ spring!"

The genuine, unguarded chuckle that left Melinda May's lips was music to his ears as she turned and headed out.

As the end of the week drew closer, Coulson's team was sent into Greenwich to clean up after Thor's battle with the Dark Elves - because nothing screamed "highly skilled, handpicked team tackling cases that haven't been classified yet" like cleaning up after the god of thunder.

"Maybe the girl's an Asgardian," Coulson commented to May, who simply rolled her eyes. "Do you think she's Asgardian? Or maybe from one of the other Realms?"

"Maybe she's three trolls in a superhero costume," May deadpanned as she passed by, bending over to pick up a stray piece of rubble.

It wasn't not long before their next real call to action, however, as a couple in Norway found an Asgardian artifact and subsequently began to, essentially, raise an army.

As one does.

According to SHIELD consultant on Norse Mythology, Elliot Randolph, the staff was called the Berserker Staff, which granted the user incredible strength at the cost of uncontrollable rage. The Asgardian warrior who wielded it split it into three parts and hid each separately to safeguard it from ever falling into the wrong hands.

The Norse Paganist cult were on the hunt for the other two pieces, so the name of the game was to recover them before they could. They'd tracked down one in some underground catacombs in Seville, Spain, and Ward and May go in to find it.

They hadn't been expecting to find Randolph with it first, and when Ward tried to take it from him, he experienced firsthand what the staff can do to someone.

"I'm concerned that my exposure to that weapon has compromised my ability to do my job," Ward confessed later on the Bus. Coulson stood up, watching him carefully. Ward's muscles tensed as he described how the weapon had stirred up his worst childhood memory, filling him with rage that had caused him to lash out at Fitz-Simmons while they conducted their examination. He shook his head, remorse twisted all over his face. "I don't trust myself," he admitted, unable to look Coulson in the eye. He chuckled wryly to himself. "I didn't realize that the thing I'd have to protect Fitz-Simmons from was myself."

"Grant," Coulson reassured him. "You telling me this makes me feel I can trust you." Ward didn't look convinced, so he added; "Besides, I don't think either of them will take it personally." He nodded towards the screen, where the image of Randolph in the Cage flickered. "It's him I don't trust. I can't get him to talk. You've got some built up anger – maybe it's time to let it out."

They found out that Randolph _was_ the Asgardian warrior, and he eventually revealed the location of the final piece of the staff. Ward and May both wielded the staff to defeat the cult, and they headed back to a hotel to stay the night. As Ward approached Fitz-Simmons to apologize, Coulson pulled May aside to check in.

"Hey," he murmured gently. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Her jaw tightened, her eyes downcast. She responded, "I'm going to bed."

He frowned. If holding just one piece had affected Ward as much as it did, he couldn't help but to worry about what holding all three had done to May, especially where he knew she still grappled with her demons on the daily. But, knowing better than to push it, he reluctantly let her go.

To cap off the week, only a day later they received information on a supposed telekinetic located in Batesville, Utah. A new enhanced meant she was unheard of on the Index, so by protocol it was time to conduct an Index asset evaluation and intake.

But, by the time they touched down in Utah, the girl had vanished.

* * *

The first time she'd killed someone had been one of the most horrifying moments of her life.

It had been pretty early on in her Hydra career. She'd had vivid memories of the lab and the operating table, of the man with the rounded glasses, of that one other man, the one with the dark, shaggy hair and the wild eyes. The cell had been new and she wasn't quite used to the buzzing bees beneath her skin yet; her skin was relatively unmarred (comparatively speaking) and her cheeks still had a little bit of that youthful teenage baby fat.

She remembered entering the room, her eyes landing on the man in the chair, his mouth gagged and his hands tied. Late 20s, early 30s. Brunette, skinny, scared. She remembered her superior smirking at her, saying that this was the ultimate test, _let's see what you're truly made of_.

He'd handed her a knife. He said _you can't rely on your powers_. He told her that _the first is the hardest, but it was necessary, you have to push past your weakness_.

She hadn't quite understood what he was asking of her – or maybe she didn't want to believe it. She wondered how she'd gotten herself into this mess in the first place.

She didn't want to do it.

He'd said _you will be compliant_. He'd said _you will prove your worth_. He'd said _do it, fucking do it, look him dead in the eye and slit his throat_.

And she'd cried. She spun around to face him and begged, tears streaming down her face, wondering what this man had done to deserve to die.

That was when she learned they'd implanted a device in the back of her neck that would shock her at the mere push of a button.

He'd said _next time you speak, I rip your tongue out_. He'd said _a good Hydra agent follows orders, nothing more, nothing less_.

He'd said _you are property of Hydra, you don't get a choice_.

_After all, you owe us your life. The least you could do is follow orders like you're supposed to._

The electrical shock scared the shit out of her. He pressed that button again and it hurt like nothing she'd ever felt before – worse than cigarette burns and angry drunken fists and belt buckles. Her heart drummed in her chest, and she approached the man and he thrashed and kicked, and her hands shook and her superior said _give him hell, fight past your weakness_.

And out of the corner of her eye, she saw his finger hovering over that button and she'd lashed forward and crossed him off.

And as she watched the life drain out of his neck, as she watched his shocked, terrified eyes glaze over, as his guttural cry echoed through the room and cut into her soul like the knife she'd slit his throat with, a piece of her died with him.

The superior's voice faded into the background and she'd dropped to her knees, the knife _clanging_ against the cement floor. Her whole body shook uncontrollably, and she couldn't find it in her to cry or to feel _anything at all_ – a hollow void had opened up in her chest and swallowed her whole.

And she sat, curled in on herself, her hands coated in his warm sticky blood and the knife stained crimson with his blood and his body slumped over dripping with blood and blood and blood and she was a killer now she was a killer and there was blood on her hands and he didn't deserve this and killer killer _killer_ -

At some point over the years, it had become easy. Her heart had sharpened into a cold, hard, lifeless stone in her chest. It was kill or be killed, and it was a simple choice. But it was easy when they were nameless. It was easy when they were nobodies.

(And countless bodies trailed in her wake, tallied up on her wrists. A part of her drowned in guilt and self-loathing, a part of her told her she was a monster. But it was just survival. It was necessary.)

(A tiny sliver of her wondered now if survival was even worth it anymore.)

She was brought into an empty room to see the woman tied to a chair, whispering to herself, her eyes wide and huge and swimming with fear, her vibrations loud and unstable, throwing her off balance. She'd turned her head sharply as she entered, her voice shaky as she begged; "Please, no, please, help me, please, I'm not who you think I am, I'm Hannah, Hannah Hutchins, I don't know what's causing it, I just want it to _stop_ -"

And she'd frozen. This wasn't a nameless nobody – this was a girl who was afraid. Who had a first and last name. Maybe she had a family. A home. A job. People who cared about her.

(She wondered, not for the first time, if there had been anyone who noticed _her_ disappearance all those years ago. If anyone had looked for her, or even cared about her. If the kids at school had turned their heads to look at the empty desk in the back of the room. If the family she'd been staying with had any idea that she didn't return from school that day, how long it had taken them to realize she wasn't coming back.)

(A small part of her hoped someone had noticed when she'd been wiped out of existence, that someone had searched for her, that someone had _missed_ her, but she had a sinking, sickening feeling that she'd been too inconsequential for anyone to even notice she was even gone.)

"You've got one last chance," one of the superiors growled. "Prove you're telekinetic, and we'll let you live."

Hannah shook her head, her eyes wild and her voice hysterical. "It's not me," she sputtered. "Please you have to believe me, it's not me, God's _punishing_ me, please, I just want it to stop, it's not me, _it's not me_ -"

Her blood turned to ice as the superior turned his head, his dark eyes landing on her. "Give her hell, Quake."

Hannah's sobs bounced off the concrete and echoed around the room, each wail piercing right into her soul. The woman's cries turned to shaky whispers, and as she'd approached, gathering the nerve to even lift her hand at her, she'd heard her praying.

(And she didn't want to do it. She didn't want to do it – she couldn't even look as she snapped the woman's neck in one quake. But she knew that she couldn't afford to hesitate, that her superior was watching, just waiting for her to slip up, and the thought of what he would do to her was almost worse than seeing the girl in her nightmares for rest of her insignificant little life.)

Hannah Hutchins didn't deserve to die.

Who was wondering where Hannah was? Who was watching the clock, waiting for her to come home? Who was now realizing that there was an empty space now where Hannah was supposed to be? Would they fall to their knees, wail and cry, or would they hold on, deny it for days, maybe weeks, until people started whispering rumors in the streets of what had happened, where she'd gone?

It was harder when she had a name, when she knew who she was killing. It was harder when she saw the effects removing a life had.

A man, falling to his knees, his face pale with horror and disgust, whispering in hushed agony the victim's name as if a plea to bring him back.

(Agent Kalmowitz and Scorch and Hannah Hutchins and blood and blood and killer killer _killer_ -)

And her superior merely nodded in approval. Two other agents stepped forward to carry Hannah's limp body out – her head rolled and her glazed eyes trailed on the ground and she had to look away or they'd burn right through her.

(But it was easy, it was easy, it had to be easy, _why wasn't it easy anymore_ -)

She hated that killing this woman meant that she could eat. She hated that at the cost of a life she would be allowed a pile of lukewarm peas and some soggy chicken nuggets. She hated the way she suppressed her emotions, her chin raised high as if she was proud to have killed an innocent. She hated how her superior looked pleased at her performance, like she was a circus animal who'd done a trick for a lousy treat.

She hated how her stomach swirled with nausea as she choked down her dinner, how she nearly threw up in the corner of her cell, and how for the first time in potentially years, long after darkness engulfed her cell, silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she realized all over again what a monster she truly was.


	5. Cataclysm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shhh yes I know it is *very late* on Monday buttttt it's still Monday isn't it? (at least where I am uhh)
> 
> I spent the past week in a “no thoughts, head empty” state and couldn’t bring myself to write (even though I’ve mentally written this chapter so many times). But things go wrong sometimes and that’s okay. Sometimes you have a bad week and you don’t feel like yourself, so you take a mental break. That’s okay. I binged ALL of The Queen’s Gambit in two days (HIGHLY recommend, the cinematography is fucking gorgeous and Anya Taylor-Joy is a powerhouse) and celebrated a very quiet, somewhat lonely Christmas. I also wrote an anorexia oneshot (Riptide) on Christmas Eve cuz the holidays can be hARD man. TLDR: I'm feeling a little better now. 
> 
> OH! I also made a Tumblr bc idk felt like it (it’s [@cloudy-paws](https://cloudy-paws.tumblr.com/) if anyone’s interested, I’m always looking for new fandom friends and I might post extras from Control over there as well, haven’t yet decided). 
> 
> This chapter's a little short because it's just one episode, I wanted to incorporate the episode after but instead "The Bridge" ended up spanning almost 6,000 words on its own - so I left it, rather than incorporating another 4-5,000 words from "The Magical Place." As always thank you for the support on this fic, I love and appreciate every one of you <3

"At 0800 hours three men and our girl infiltrated the Havenworth Federal Penitentiary. They were in and out in less than two minutes."

May narrowed her eyes as she watched the video footage playing in front of her; the three men and Quake (" _their_ " girl now, she supposed) busted through the ceiling, chaos erupting amongst the prisoners. The footage was grainy, but she could easily see that Quake was using her powers to force officers out of the way – she sent one careening into the wall, and he slumped down, unconscious.

Or dead. Yet to be determined.

_Knowing this one, probably snapped his neck._

"That's our girl?" Simmons leaned forward, entranced. "Look Fitz, shockwaves!"

"It appears she's generating them from her palms, so genetic, I'd assume," Fitz extrapolated.

Simmons let out an excited squeal. "How intriguing! Next time we run into her I _have_ to get a blood sample-"

With just one look, May silenced them.

Coulson didn't acknowledge the scientists' tangent, instead continuing the briefing. "They left no prints at the scene, but we do have one lead." He blew up the picture, enlarging one small detail – the Centipede device on one of the soldiers' arms.

"Centipede," Ward commented.

"Seems they've salvaged some of their research from Hong Kong," Coulson replied.

"So we were right," Simmons said excitedly. "Chan's platelets solved their combustion problem! Now they can create super soldiers with no further explosions."

Fitz gave her a pointed look. "Maybe don't get so excited about that."

Simmons frowned. "If they can do that, how long do you think it'll be before we see a Centipede-powered Quake?"

Ward set his jaw. "I'll take her out before that happens," he vowed.

Again, May flicked her steely eyes over to them, quieting them.

"Two of Centipede's labs have been destroyed, but they keep popping back up. Now they have at least three of these guys. Maybe more."

"Who'd they break out?" May wanted to know.

"Edison Po. Former marine. Expert at tactics and rapid response," Coulson responded, pulling up his picture. "Fell off the grid in '08, reappeared eighteen months ago at a diner in Boston."

Ward filled in; "Where he… stabbed a friend's eyes out."

"With a steak knife," Coulson finished for him. "Then finished his meal." He straightened up. "Finding Po and these Centipede soldiers are a top priority for SHIELD."

May nodded in his direction. "And Quake?"

He glanced over. "Simmons is right – now that they've refined their serum, we have to be wary of a Centipede powered Quake. So… yes. She's a priority too."

"A target?" Ward asked.

Coulson shook his head. "Rescue."

Ward narrowed his eyes. "I'm sorry, sir, does this girl look to you like she needs to be rescued?" He gestured to the footage. "Because to me she looks like she just killed an officer with no hesitation. You know, like how she killed-"

"I know," Coulson cut him off. "And I understand where you're coming from. But you weren't there in Peru _or_ Hong Kong." Ward held up his hands in mock-surrender, taking a few paces back. May shifted on her feet, casting an uneasy glance over at Coulson, who picked up where he left off. "We'll be running point on this op. But we won't be working alone."

"What team did HQ send for backup?" Ward asked – maybe a bit tentatively this time after being told off.

"Not a team," Coulson clarified. "A person. Someone who can help us fight fire with fire."

That person ended up being Mike Peterson.

She'd had a hunch but was hoping she'd be wrong for once. She wasn't.

May stood next to Coulson on the ramp as the SHIELD van pulled up. "This is a bad idea," she expressed, staring straight ahead as Mike stepped out.

"That's what you said about the girl, too," Coulson responded. "And look where you are now."

May flicked her eyes over to him, then back at Mike. "Still regretting that one," she muttered. "One mistake at a time I guess."

They greeted Mike, then headed inside to brief him. After filling him in, Mike relayed the key details back to ensure that he had them right. May nodded. "Great, got it. Anything else?"

"One more thing," Coulson said. May closed her eyes, sighing. She knew exactly where this was going.

"Yeah?" Mike asked.

"I was actually wondering if you knew this girl."

There it was.

Coulson blew up the picture on Quake this time. "They call her Quake. She's turned up a few times now. Do you know anything about her? It seems like she's with Centipede. Do you know if Centipede is funded by any other organization, or maybe a subdivision of a larger organization?"

 _Like a terrorist organization that was wiped out back in World War II?_ May mused to herself.

Mike shrugged. "Not that I know of. But Quake. Damn. It's been a while."

May raised an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued. "So, you _have_ heard of her before?"

"Oh, yeah, I've fought her before," Mike said casually. "And, though I didn't see her, I know it was her quake that took down the office in LA. And I'm sure she was at the station too.'

Coulson's eyes widened. "You _fought_ her?"

Mike nodded. "Right before LA. I had been under the impression that she was given the serum too. I, uh, was wrong, and nearly crushed her skull." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "But it's okay, 'cause I _also_ didn't know she's got earthquake powers until I was flying across the gym and slammed against the wall. Girl can pack a punch."

"Gym… like a spar?" Coulson elaborated.

Mike nodded. "Yeah. I think they were testing the serum strength with her. They told me to give it everything I had and to not hold back. I… I felt weird. About hitting a girl."

May shot him a dirty look.

He quickly added; "I just mean like, she looked so young, you know? Like, far too young to be doing this sort of work. And she's so small I really thought she'd snap in half. But they told me she could take it. And shit man, she did."

Coulson nodded thoughtfully. "Were you the only one she fought?"

Mike shook his head. "I think they'd been testing every Centipede soldier on her, at least the first ones anyway. One of the guys, Schwartz, got his ass handed to him. Even with the serum. She fights like her life depends on it."

"It probably does," Coulson commented, a solemn note to his voice.

"Makes her dangerous," May added sensibly, sending a pointed look his way. "Especially if they inject _her_."

"Oh, if they give her the serum it's game over," Mike said. "She could easily take down an entire city with a flick of her wrist."

"That's reassuring," May muttered.

"That's why she's a priority too," Coulson emphasized. "We need to get her away from them before that can happen, for our sakes and for her own good as well."

* * *

Days had begun to blur again.

She hadn't truly slept in the days following Hutchins' death ( _murder, it was a murder, cold blooded killer killer killer-_ ) and her eyes were beginning to sting from the lack of rest. She couldn't bring herself to close them though ( _coward, coward, you can't even face what you've done_ ) so instead she sat, slumped in the corner of her cell, her eyes trained on the floor.

(Hannah had her own special mark running straight down, next to Kalmowitz – long and deep, because maybe she'd hoped- maybe she'd wanted- but that wasn't her choice, she couldn't, they wouldn't let her-)

She'd been up in the gym training a handful of times, and she'd quite literally dropped into a penitentiary with some of the Centipede soldiers to extract one of the prisoners (a couple new marks on her wrist signified the officers she'd quaked, probably to death, it was getting hard to keep track at this point). The smiley superior was gone, which meant she was left with just the angry one, who was already upset with her – made _crystal_ clear days before when he'd threatened her after Hong Kong. She'd lost track of how long it had been already, but he still looked less than pleased – more so than usual.

At least the anxiety had started to subside.

But the replacement to her racing heart was a deep, empty hole in her chest. An unrelenting desperation for an escape once more – but they would never let her have it, just like the sky. The two things she craved more than anything, constantly held above her head, just out of reach.

What a cruel fucking joke.

(Coulson had offered her a way out, and she didn't take it, she didn't take it-)

(What would Hydra do to her if she'd taken it-)

(Traitor, traitor, traitor-)

( _You fucking know what we do with traitors-_ )

She didn't hear the creaking of her cell door, but she'd felt the sharp, turbulent vibrational bursts that were so characteristic to the angry superior from down the hall. Dirty brown boots entered her line vision as she stared at the ground through unseeing eyes, followed by a gruff voice.

"Get off your ass. We're heading out."

She lifted her head, her hair falling and hanging limply in front of her face. The superior stood over her, his brows pulled together and his mouth drawn in a scowl. The cuffs _clinked_ as she slowly raised her hands up for him to free her of their grasp, and he muttered incoherently to himself as she slowly got to her feet.

He didn't say a word as she followed him to the helicopter, though she stole a quick glance up to the gray streaked sky. She took her seat in the back and as soon as eyes were off of her, her fingers instinctually made its way to her mouth, her teeth digging into the raw skin in any effort to feel something again.

She wasn't sure how long the flight had been, but she'd worked her way through her knuckles on her right hand, all the while keeping her superior in her peripheral just in case. As they landed, she quickly wiped the blood onto her pantleg and sat up straight, lifting her chin as her superior turned to look at her.

"You're being transferred to Centipede full-time for the time being," he told her as he opened the door to let her out. "Due to your recent misconduct, I'll have to stay to keep you in line. You'll return to the base when you're no longer of use, but for now your job is to protect this project with your life."

She nodded.

"I'm serious." The superior lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. "SHIELD's been meddling with our operations and we could have had them under control if you'd just done your job. I will say this one time, and one time only. Phil Coulson and his team are a _threat_. If they show up, you are to show no mercy, but leave Coulson _alive_. We need Coulson _alive,_ you understand? And if you hesitate, I will make your life a living hell. I will mold you into the perfect Hydra drone – pliable and perfectly _compliant_. And if not, we'll just throw you back to Whitehall and let him do what he wants. Do I make myself clear?"

She nodded, expecting an anxious tremor to make its way down her spine at his threat – and surprised when she found herself calm, almost indifferent.

(Maybe she was just too fucking tired to care anymore.)

The superior let go of her with an annoyed _tch_. "Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be an insolent, pathetic little _girl_?"

He led her into the warehouse and through the rows of blue storage containers. She followed behind, scanning the room's vibrations – she could feel activity towards the back where they were headed, and quickly picked out the familiar, unsettling vibrations of Raina, much to her dismay. Though she was unsurprised to find her, she was certainly not excited to be stationed with her again; she hated the way the woman acted like she knew so much more about her than she did herself.

Whether or not she actually did was still up for debate.

A round table set with a tablecloth and a meal so good it looked fake sat abandoned in the middle of the warehouse. Her gaze lingered on it for a moment before snapping back up at the voices that carried just a few yards away from them.

They found Raina standing with a balding man she'd recognized as the one they'd broken from the penitentiary between some shipping units and in front of a makeshift lab. She froze, her heart speeding up and her breaths shuddering in her lungs as she took in the bright lights, the doctors, the _needles_ -

(Every instinct screamed at her to run before they took her, she couldn't do it again, she couldn't she just couldn't, the man, the round glasses, the scalpel, she'd been awake, she'd felt _all of it,_ _discovery requires_ -)

Her superior cleared his throat and she quickened her pace, forcing her legs to follow.

"This SHIELD team has destroyed a few of our operations. We move every few days now to be safe." Raina turned her attention to her and her superior. She nodded to acknowledge her, her voice scathing. " _This_ one has let them slip through our fingers a few times now."

"Quake will not let that happen again," her superior responded. "She knows what will happen if she does."

The corners of Raina's lips twitched, and she turned her attention back to the labs. "As you can imagine, moving constantly causes maintenance problems. We can't understate the toll it takes on our soldiers. They're drained after every mission."

She forced herself to peer into the thrown-together lab, at the men sitting in the exam chairs. They looked _exhausted_. One of them had tubing in his nose to help him breathe.

An anxious quake bubbled in her chest the longer she looked, so she peeled her eyes away, squashing it down.

( _You're next, you're next_ -)

"Our men need regular injections; constant upkeep." Raina cast an accusatory glance over at her. "Difficult when SHIELD has us on the run."

"Then it's time to stop running," the bald man suggested, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Quake can take them down," her superior suggested. "We can lead them straight here and ambush them in our own backyard."

The thought of taking down that SHIELD team on her own made her stomach twist, especially because it sounded like her superior was _testing_ her – almost _looking_ for her to slip up, so he could have a reason to pull her from the field and _destroy_ her.

She bit the inside of her cheek. He was stacking the odds against her.

"I'll need her for other matters," Raina responded. "If that's alright with you sir."

Her superior nodded curtly. "She's all yours."

(She still didn't like Raina, but she was grateful to her in that moment - though she was certain that it wouldn't last long.)

She hadn't been allowed to watch the fight from the backseat of the car, but from what she'd picked up on, Phil Coulson had been there (and something about that fact made her chest tighten because _shit_ , why was she relieved that the Centipede soldiers left to ambush them had failed?). Upon the realization that Mike Peterson was now with SHIELD, Raina had decided to target the one thing he cared about more than anything in the world – his kid.

Her stomach flipped.

(She'd been right – this was astronomically worse.)

They were on the move again – her superior drove the car, the bald man sitting passenger next to him, and she and Raina had taken the backseat. The walls of the car felt like they were shrinking in on her, but she sat up tall like she was supposed to, her eyes bearing straight ahead as Raina spoke with the bald man in the passenger seat.

(She _definitely_ found it a bit humorous to hear Raina practically begging him for information on the _Clairvoyant_ , whatever that meant. The way her seductive, buttery voice seemed to roll right off of him was even better.)

After realizing that he was not going to relent, Raina turned her attention to her. "Daisy," she lilted, her voice soft and her eyes burning straight into her. Her skin crawled at that _word_ again. Her superior was _right there_ in the driver's seat, what if he had heard? Why couldn't this woman just call her Quake like everyone else? Not that it was better, but at least it was a label that meant nothing to her.

(She'd never let them take the name she'd chosen for herself, she'd never let them have it, they could take anything they wanted but she wouldn't let them claim the one thing she'd clung to that was still _hers_ , never, never, _never_ -)

"You're going to have to cross off the woman," Raina said. "Mindy. The kid's aunt."

She nodded. She was aware.

She'd done it plenty of times before.

"But I need you to not make it so… obvious." Raina wrinkled her nose. "The way they have you doing it is so… _barbaric_. Snapping necks and slitting throats and such."

She ducked her head, casting a quick glance up to the front of the car. Seeing that her superior hadn't heard (or maybe he had and would use it as ammunition later), she turned her attention over to Raina and raised an eyebrow.

"Daisy, you've got the power to manipulate vibrational frequencies," Raina continued, the corners of her lips curving upwards.

(Really? She hadn't noticed.)

"You could just as easily stop her heart if you hone in and concentrate on just the vibrations. Make it look like cardiac arrest. Either block off an artery or short-circuit the ventricles." Her dark eyes bore straight into her, and she had to turn her head forward again to steady the uneasy vibrations prickling in her palms. "You're so much more powerful than they let you be, Daisy. You could rip this car apart molecule by molecule without even batting an eye."

 _Don't show weakness, don't let her see you falter,_ she told herself, but the way this woman was looking at her – the way she knew _so much_ about her – was causing nervous vibrations to rise and bubble in her chest.

Raina sighed. "Or I suppose you can do it their way, and just have another gruesome death on your hands. But you'll compensate for it later either way, so what does it matter?"

She snapped her attention back over to Raina, unable to hide her surprise. Raina simply nodded at her arm, shooting her a knowing look that made her skin _crawl_. "Your father would be so disappointed if he knew where his little girl ended up."

The car _rattled_. Raina looked around, her eyes wide and curious, her lips upturned into a satisfied smirk. "See? You already do it without even trying."

"Would you stop provoking the walking natural disaster?" The bald man muttered from the passenger seat. "She's going to make this car flip over."

Without thinking, her fingernail made its way to her mouth – they'd heard _everything_. Biting down hard on her cuticle, she clamped down on the nervous vibrations that had bubbled inside of her and locked away any rising worries of what the superior would do to her – even though she'd said nothing, even though it was all Raina. It didn't matter to him.

Raina shifted her gaze over to the bald man, then back at her. "Remember Daisy," she murmured. "A clean kill. Make it look like an accident."

It had occurred to her when she saw the look on Raina's face upon greeting the kid that it was his protection that had pushed her to request a clean kill. Ace didn't deserve to see his caregiver brutally murdered right before his eyes, and though she didn't want to have to do it at all, she'd complied in making it look accidental – and it was sort of exciting to hone her abilities like that. She'd focused in on the specific vibrational patterns of the woman's heart, picked up on the frequency that belonged to her ventricles, and with just a clench of her fingers by her side, she'd sent the vibrations into overdrive, causing cardiac arrest.

(And she _hated_ that she could do that. She fucking _hated_ that she could just _kill_ someone like that, but at the same time she wondered how else she could use that ability, and what else she could do that the superiors hadn't had her practice.)

(How much _more_ could Raina tell her about herself?)

Raina had cast her a swift, impressed glance before ushering the shell-shocked kid aside. "Don't worry Ace," she had cooed to the little boy. "We'll make sure your Aunt Mindy's okay."

(For her own sake, she told herself that the woman's disappearance afterwards was her being rushed to a hospital or something, but she knew for sure that was _not_ the case.)

After calming him down and reassuring him that help was on the way for his aunt, they made their way to the living room, where Raina asked him some questions about his dad, which he was happy to answer. She stood off to the side awkwardly, taking in the features of the room and the action figures that Ace had so meticulously set up – gifts from his daddy, as he'd so excitedly told them.

(Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered if this was a life _she_ could have ever had. If this was something that could ever be _hers_. She barely remembered her childhood as anything but snapshots of multiple lives, and none of them looked like this.)

(To see that people actually _lived_ like caused a strange ache in her chest she couldn't explain.)

The phone rang, and Ace answered it, excitedly announcing that it was his dad on the line. Raina nudged him, holding her hand out to take it and he handed it to her. She turned her back to them, her voice low as she spoke to Mike.

Even though Raina had insisted on using this poor kid as a pawn in her twisted game, she had to appreciate the lengths she was going through to soften the blow.

But the way Ace looked at her with such innocent, childlike curiosity made her want to sink into the floor.

"What's your name?" Ace asked her after Raina took the phone from him. "Are you Raina's friend? Can you be my friend too?"

She stiffened, casting a quick glance over to Raina.

(Fuck, how was she supposed to look this kid in the eye after-)

"Who's your favorite hero?" he asked after a beat, referring to the array of superhero action figures on the living room table. "I like Iron Man."

She bit her cheek, turning her attention back to the toys. Her superior and the bald man were still in the car, and something told her that Raina wouldn't mind…

"Thor's cool," she murmured, cringing at the way her underused voice crackled in her throat and casting another swift look at Raina, who'd merely smirked to herself at the exchange. Her gaze swept across all the toys before landing on the one woman figurine. "Black Widow's the best though."

He handed her the Black Widow action figure, and she turned it over in her hands. The woman's face was twisted into an expression of pure determination, her red hair splayed out and her fists clenched, her whole body held in a position of power and confidence. She was posed in a way that made her look strong and brave, like she was protecting something much bigger than herself.

"Black Widow doesn't have superpowers," Ace told her. "But she's a master at martial arts."

"Is she?" She studied the action figure. Though she'd been underground for the Battle of New York, she'd heard all about it, and of course she knew who all of the Avengers were. But Ace was content to teach her, so she was content to listen.

(But shit, he needed to stop _looking_ at her like that-)

"Yeah. She's like, one of the strongest Avengers," Ace explained. "Even though she doesn't have a metal suit or super strength."

She smiled to herself, letting her gaze linger on the woman's face before handing it back to the kid. Ace set her back up in line with the other Avengers, and her gaze swept across the whole team, her stomach twisting in a way she didn't quite understand.

Raina hung up the phone, her head tilted and her eyes burning with curiosity. "I didn't realize you were such a fan of the Avengers," she teased, though there was a certain level of probing in that statement, she was sure of it. Her ears burned with embarrassment and she stood up, lifting her chin. "Ace, sweetie, we're going for a drive. You're gonna see your daddy again."

* * *

May didn't like this.

Not one bit.

This mission was proving to be much larger than they'd anticipated – and Centipede was a bigger threat than they'd initially thought them to be. Their ethics were already _largely_ in question to say the very least – with the human testing and the kill switches and the eye-camera controlled soldiers – but now they were threatening a _child's life_.

The anguish on Mike's face as he described the call to them made her heart twist. She'd wanted a child once, a lifetime ago, and she'd accepted that family life simply wasn't her reality. She couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he felt – a parent threatened with the life of their child.

"They said they would murder my son." Mike's voice shook. May took a deep breath, pushing her own anger aside for use later.

And, as she pulled the SHIELD van up to the specified meeting spot, she was ready to use it if necessary.

"At least let _me_ escort him out for the exchange," she said, keeping her gaze straight ahead.

"Mr. Peterson requested me," Coulson reminded her. "I'm comfortable with that. And if things go south, I need you back here, taking point of the team."

She gritted her teeth. "I'm not letting you go alone."

"Hey," Coulson murmured. She looked in his direction, feeling her shoulders relax a little upon meeting his gaze. "I'll be fine. We'll get the kid to safety."

"I don't like any of this," she confessed. "At least let me get a little closer just in case. They probably already assumed you have the team with you."

Coulson sighed. "We promised Peterson not to do anything that might endanger Ace."

"Phil." May winced at the nervous edge to her voice, and quickly fought to get it under control.

Coulson's gaze softened. "It's okay, Mel."

"I…" She looked away, clearing her throat and steeling her nerves. Matter-of-factly, she stated, "The team can't lose you."

He'd noticed her slip, however, and reached out, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, not wanting to let herself feel comforted by the way his thumb grazed back and forth. "You won't. But the team needs you too."

She glanced through the window as another car pulled up, and out stepped Raina, followed by Quake, her superior, and finally, Ace. "They brought her."

Coulson followed her gaze, raising an eyebrow. "Quake."

"I'm coming." May got out of the car. Coulson followed.

"Mel-"

"They didn't say they were bringing her."

"Melinda-"

"I'll be damned if-"

"Melinda."

She stopped, turning back around. Coulson's shoulders sagged. "I can't talk you out of this, huh." She shook her head. "Okay. Fine. But stand down. Do _not_ engage under any circumstances."

" _I'll_ make that call," May muttered under her breath.

They approached Mike, who was being briefed by Fitz-Simmons on the patch they were putting on his arm – a tracking device. He glanced over at May, then back at Coulson. "I thought-"

"Agent May just wants to make sure this goes smoothly," Coulson explained. "She won't do anything that could jeopardize your son, we promise."

Mike nodded apprehensively. "Thank you," he murmured, unable to look her in the eye.

May nodded curtly, looking over at Coulson. "Ready?" He nodded, and they turned and headed towards the middle of the closed road, where Raina and the rest were already standing.

Quake stood up straight, her stance wide and her chin lifted. But as they approached, recognition flashed in her face momentarily and she averted her gaze completely, narrowing her eyes and gritting her teeth. Her superior nudged her and whispered something to her, and she slowly shifted her gaze back towards them.

May's eyes immediately flicked down to Ace, his arm in Raina's grasp.

"Hello Mike," Raina cooed, letting go of the boy and taking a few steps forward to greet them. Ace fell back and stood next to Quake, who shifted uncomfortably at his proximity. "It's been a while. Your son is _adorable_. He looks just like you" Her eyes trailed over to Coulson, and then landed on May. "What's she doing here?"

May gritted her teeth, nodding at Quake. "What's _she_ doing here?" she shot back, her voice scathingly low.

She didn't miss the girl's flinch, and a shadow of guilt flickered in her chest. It wasn't personal – but Quake's presence in itself was a direct threat from the organization.

Raina smiled, shifting her gaze over to Coulson. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure," she lilted, ignoring May's question.

Coulson matched her evenly. "Lucky for you," he quipped.

"I have to thank you Mike, for holding up your end of the deal."

Mike shifted uncomfortably next to her, and May felt herself instinctually tense up.

"Let's just make the trade," Coulson cut to the chase. "Give us Ace and you can have him."

Raina's face fell. "Oh, that wasn't the deal."

May took a step forward.

"Not another step, dear," Quake's superior growled. "Or you know what happens."

"May," Coulson warned. She reluctantly took a half-step back, keeping her eyes on the boy. "Mike-"

"I'm so sorry," he murmured, regret thick in his voice.

Coulson looked quizzically over to Raina, who explained; "In exchange for his son, we asked him to deliver _you_."

Immediately, Coulson's attention snapped to May, who balled her hands into fists. "May-"

But before she could do anything, Mike lashed forward, grabbing Raina by her neck. "I'm not at full strength but I can still crush your throat. New deal – my son for _your life_ ," he growled, his anger rolling off of him in waves.

May stopped short, casting a surprised glance over her shoulder at Coulson, when suddenly she heard a gruff, male voice order; "Quake the kid."

Everyone stopped.

Mike let go of Raina, panic-stricken, and she whirled around, alarm written all over her face. Coulson stepped in line with May, a gentle hand on her back.

All eyes went to Quake, who'd backed up, her expression twisted in shock. Her superior stepped towards her, and again he growled; "Quake him."

Slowly her gaze dropped down to the boy, who looked back up at her with huge, confused eyes.

She stepped in front of him, putting herself between the superior and Ace.

And she shook her head.

"Phil," May whispered, her breath hollow in her lungs.

Coulson stepped forward. "I'll go, just, let's all calm down-"

Raina turned fully to face the superior. "Yes, let's just go, we got what we came for-"

The superior spat; "You've got one last chance. Quake him, or I swear-"

The girl shook her head once more, her brow furrowed in what looked like a strange mixture of defiance and defeat.

Acceptance, even.

And the superior drew his gun.

She didn't even flinch.

And he shot her in the leg.

May froze.

Ace leaped back, crying out in surprise, and Raina ushered him towards his father.

The girl made no sound as she crumpled to the ground, clutching the bullet wound on her thigh. She glared back up at the superior, her hair falling in front of her face. He took aim and shot her in the shoulder as well, and she recoiled, completely curling in on herself on the ground. He crouched down to her level, his voice a low, threatening growl as he muttered to her, the words inaudible from where May stood.

Coulson took a couple paces forward, his breaths ragged as they reverberated in his lungs. "Get back to the van," he told May through gritted teeth. "Get back to Fitz-Simmons, tell Ward to stand down. The team needs you."

"Phil-"

"I know." He turned, catching her eye. "I'll be fine. Take care of the team. I'll figure it out."

She sighed, nodding. He turned back to Raina, but before he could do anything, May grabbed his hand. "Phil."

He turned. "Mel."

"If you can, protect her."

He nodded, his eyes narrowed with resolve. "Don't worry. I planned on it."


	6. Synapse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... a lot of you yelled at me in the comments of the last update… so maybe take a seat and a deep breath before you start this one ;)
> 
> As always, thank you for all your feedback <3

The vibrations all across the bridge were haphazard and overwhelming, like a flock of spooked seagulls flapping their wings wildly against stormy winds – then, suddenly, muted in the background by the ringing in her ears and the fire that erupted first on her thigh, then on her shoulder.

Somewhere behind her, a small child screamed.

(And fuck it hurts it hurts it _hurts_ -)

The world went upside down then sideways, spinning around and around as she sank further and further in on herself, burying her head in her arms and trying desperately to not feed into the flames eating at her limbs. The words _compliant_ and _submit_ and _when I'm done with you_ broke through the whirling and then _get up, godfuckingdammit stand up_ and she could barely process the words before the electric bite ripped through her and shit please stop please make it stop _please_ -

Somewhere within her vicinity a buttery voice murmured _ethical_ and _she's already down_ and something pricked her unwounded shoulder and took her by surprise, and she lifted her head and the world was growing hazy and the spinning grew more intense and _why were her cheeks wet why did her eyes burn what was on her hands oh God her hands were soaked and sticky and it's blood isn't it, oh God there's so much of it-_

And _Whitehall, Whitehall, Whitehall, compliant_ and _when I'm done with you, property, property_ and _make your life a living hell_ -

And maybe they'd let her die this time-

Maybe she was finally dying-

Please-

Please, make it stop, _please_ -

Just as the rushing and whirling in her head started to take over, she turned her eyes up to the sky, but she only caught a quick glimpse of the glittery speckles above her before the darkness consumed her again.

* * *

May's breath snagged in her throat as Coulson squeezed her hand reassuringly, promising to keep the girl safe, before letting go and heading over towards Raina.

The frantic drumming of her heart rendered her frozen in place for just a moment before she quickly regained control of her breathing. She had a job to do. Panic did her no good. She knew better than to let it control her.

She took in a deep breath. Held it for a count of three. Then let it out.

And she grounded herself in reality again, counting to ten in her mind to keep herself steady as she jumped back into action.

_One._

Ace leapt into his father's arms. Mike hugged him tight, squeezing his eyes shut, before turning back to look over his shoulder as Coulson approached Raina.

 _Two_.

Raina drew a syringe and jabbed it into Coulson's arms. May's heart _thudded_ in her chest – she turned her attention back towards the van, where Fitz-Simmons were stepping out, their eyes huge and fearful; two kids who'd just watched their world turn upside down.

 _Three_.

"What happened? They took Coulson!"

Ward's voice edged on frantic in her ears. Behind her, Mike approached Fitz and Simmons, crouching down to comfort his son.

 _Four_.

"I have a clear shot."

"Do not engage – they'll kill Coulson!" Fear drummed in May's chest as that reality set in; she closed her eyes and drew another breath. _They won't kill Coulson,_ she told herself over and over. _He won't go down without a fight._

_Trust Coulson._

"May, I can end this right now-"

" _Do not engage_. I'll contact HQ. _Stand down_ , Agent Ward."

 _Five_.

"SHIELD HQ, this is SHIELD RG-422, we need _immediate_ satellite support-"

Mike Peterson whirled around and ran at top speed past her.

"Mike!"

 _Six_.

A loud _boom_ exploded on the other side of the bridge – May stumbled backwards, her arm up to shield herself from the flames that erupted from the Centipede vehicles. Horrified screeches cut through the air behind her; she turned for a moment to see Fitz clinging to Simmons, his face twisted in sheer terror, and Ace in Simmons' arms as she held on to him like a lifeline.

Mike was nowhere to be found.

 _Seven_.

"Where's Coulson?" Ward demanded over the comms. May froze up, blood roaring in her ears as she stared, misty-eyed, across the bridge, searching for any sign of her old partner.

The last car exploded.

 _Eight_.

A sickening silence settled across the team. May's shallow breaths reverberated in her ears, loud and ragged and deafening.

Her chest ripped open with a hole she hadn't felt since Bahrain.

To stop the sequence of thoughts threatening to utter their terrible truths, she let his name slip off her tongue; an incredulous, horrified plea begging to reverse time.

"Coulson…"

A helicopter took off from below the bridge. She peeled her eyes off of the fire and felt herself let out a breath she didn't register she was holding as she realized that they'd gotten away – that Phil was _alive_ , at the very least.

 _Nine_.

A string of curse words and threats sounded over the comms.

Her voice sounded hollow in her ears as she reminded Ward to stand down. His voice crackled in again, full of confusion and anger and spite. A promise to shoot their helicopter out of the sky.

She repeated herself more firmly.

 _Ten_.

_Take care of the team._

_They need you._

"May… What now?"

Fitz's voice shook uncontrollably. May turned around to face the scientists, who had approached her cautiously; Ace clung to Simmons like she would disappear if he didn't.

Simmons drew a shuddery breath. "May I- you're- are… are you okay?"

May hadn't realized that she had tears streaming down her face until she'd pointed it out. She took in another deep breath, wiping her soaked cheeks. "We're going to get Coulson back," she promised, keeping her voice as steady as she could make it. She cleared her throat, taking all of what she felt and locking it away again.

_The team needs you._

_Coulson will be okay._

* * *

The last thing Coulson remembered was the prick of a needle and the drugs hitting his system.

His eyes fluttered open and as he took in his surroundings. The whirring of helicopter blades and the rushing, whipping of the wind drowned his ears. Next to him sat Raina, who eyed him curiously, and on his other side, a lump he realized was the unconscious, curled up form of the girl. He shook his head, trying to clear out some of the grogginess.

"Morning Coulson," Raina murmured, her voice silken and smooth as if she hadn't just drugged and kidnapped him. He shot her a glare, but then snapped his attention back to the girl as she stirred. "She's not waking up anytime soon, trust me." Coulson tore his eyes off the injured girl and shifted his gaze back over to Raina. "The drugs hit her a little heavier than they hit you."

"Why?" Coulson accused. "Because she's starving?"

Raina raised an eyebrow. "Why, where on earth would you get that idea?"

Coulson glanced back over at the girl – her tiny, skeletal frame told him all he needed to know. "What will you do with her?" he uttered, his eyelids still heavy and his head still a bit fuzzy from whatever Raina had drugged him with.

Raina shrugged. "Her handler will see that she will never misbehave again." She lowered her voice, glancing quickly up front to the driver's seat of the helicopter. "There was talk of a much worse fate. I've managed to prolong the inevitable for now at least."

Coulson narrowed his eyes. "How generous."

Raina stole a quick glance up front before letting her gaze land on the girl, who'd stilled again. Her breaths rasped in her throat; the rise and fall of her chest was so faint, Coulson was worried he was imagining it. "She's been where they're taking her before. It's not a punishment I'd ever wish on anybody," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "I have no doubts your team will come for you, they always do."

Coulson nodded. "I know. And I'm not leaving without her."

The ghost of a smirk played on her lips for just a fraction of a second. "I had no doubts about that either."

* * *

A cacophony of wind and helicopter blades and murmurings somewhere in her vicinity punctuated the lucid moments before she retreated back to her drug-induced sleep, wary of returning to the real world.

(And maybe she'd hoped that it would last; succumbing would be so much easier than what awaited her when she woke. But of course, they would never let it happen, they'll never let her die, please, please, please just make it _stop_ -)

But after an indeterminable amount of time, the pandemonium started to clear up and make sense again. Unwillingly, she opened her eyes, but immediately squeezed them shut again, flinching away at the light – throbbing, burning pain crept back through her system at the sudden movement, and she was reminded all over again that her superior had _shot_ her. Twice.

"Don't move," a gentle male voice told her. "You don't want those to reopen."

Though her senses were dull, she focused in on the vibrations to orient herself – she detected that she was in the helicopter again, her superior piloting, with the bald man next to him. In the back with her she felt Raina and the calm vibrations she'd come to recognize as belonging to Coulson.

(And maybe she was a little relieved to feel him next to her, though she knew that if he was with them then he was in danger-)

"We're gonna get out of here together, okay?" Coulson's voice was barely audible as he whispered to her, and without really processing the consequences she gave a little nod – just that tiny movement sent sharp pains down her injured arm, and she bit the inside of her cheek. She tried blinking her eyes open again, and the blurred figures started coming into focus. Coulson gave her a friendly little smile. "Just hold out for a little, okay?"

She was certain she didn't have a choice. No matter how much she wanted to let go, they wouldn't let her.

"Any idea where they're taking us?" Coulson asked, thankfully keeping his voice a low murmur. Hopefully her superior wouldn't hear – she'd pay for it later if he could. Gritting her teeth and bracing herself for the pain, she shifted her gaze and craned her neck to look out the window, dismayed to realize that she had _no idea_ where they were being taken. Dull golden sand and dead grass stretched as far as she could see.

She shook her head, unable to mute the hiss of pain that escaped through her teeth as she slumped back down into her seat.

"I think we're about to find out," Coulson murmured. "Just hang on, I promise, my team's coming to get us."

_Us._

This man was going to make her a traitor.

(She was already a traitor, she was defiant, she disobeyed orders-)

_You know what we do with traitors-_

The vibrations abruptly shifted to a sturdier frequency, pulling her out of her tumultuous thoughts as they landed. Concern shadowed Coulson's face as he regarded her. "You're gonna be okay," he told her softly. "I promise. I don't know what they're gonna do to either of us, but we'll hold out for each other, okay?"

That sounded like a promise she wasn't ready to keep.

She was sick of fighting.

And if there was a chance to let go…

She was going to take it.

* * *

Thirty-nine hours, fifty-four minutes, thirteen seconds.

Fourteen seconds.

Fifteen seconds.

May let a shaky breath pass through her lungs and out her lips.

She hated having so many extra agents crammed on her plane. It was understandable _why_ they were all here – though she wasn't certain Agent Hand's focus was on Coulson like it _should_ be. But she'd already had to give her signature "don't-you-fucking-dare" glare at a few bold men who'd been admiring the cherry red Corvette in the cargo hold. Not to mention, she'd heard Fitz in passing complaining to Simmons about how there was no room in the lab anymore, and even Ward seemed frustrated at having all the extra bodies to navigate around.

Thirty-nine hours, fifty-five minutes, twenty-two seconds.

It wouldn't be such a problem if they could still operate the way they were used to. May hadn't realized just how much more lenient they'd been able to be under Coulson's rules. Now they could barely breathe without having to follow protocol. 

Hand's agents couldn't get Vanchat to speak. Ward resorted to other measures.

Hand was… displeased.

Thirty-seven seconds.

Fitz had suggested to Hand that maybe if they could track Vanchat's financial history, it would lead them right to Coulson. Begrudgingly, she'd let him and a few other agents explore that avenue, though she emphasized its importance towards pinpointing Centipede, rather than Coulson's whereabouts.

May gritted her teeth.

Fifty-six minutes, eleven seconds.

_Every second that ticks by could be Coulson's last._

_Stop that. Trust Coulson._

Nineteen seconds.

Twenty seconds.

She let herself wonder for a second if the girl was still alive.

Twenty-three seconds.

She considered what they'd want with Coulson. What value he had for them. What information they could gain.

Twenty-six seconds.

_But he doesn't know about-_

She shook her head. Twenty-eight seconds.

They'd find him soon enough. Even if Hand decided to follow her own investigation, May resolved that she would, without a doubt, find Phil Coulson.

Thirty-nine hours, fifty-six minutes, fifty-eight seconds.

* * *

They'd knocked Coulson out again before he could mentally catalogue where he was.

Dreams of white sands and serene, crystal blue ocean waves danced in his head – a beautiful woman massaging him, a man bringing him all the drinks he could want. The sun was warm and the breeze was crisp and cool, but not cold, and for the first time since joining SHIELD, he was totally, completely, entirely relaxed.

Then he woke up.

The room was dark and dirty; beams of light filtered through the blinds, casting a strange green glow in the room. The first figure he laid eyes on was a strange mannequin in the corner, then a Centipede soldier standing watch nearby.

And what was this strange machine they had him in-

His eyes landed on Edison Po, sitting across from him, casually sipping on a glass of water.

Po asked him what he saw.

Coulson asked him where the girl was.

And after refusing over and over to give Po the information he was looking for – of which he wasn't even quite sure of himself – Po resorted to other measures.

* * *

_Property of Hydra-_

_Your life isn't yours-_

_Whitehall, Whitehall, Whitehall-_

_Don't_ ever _misbehave again-_

She lost track of how many times he'd hit her at this point.

His fist connected with her jaw once more, and with all the power he'd put in his swing she was thrown to the ground, landing and letting a gasp escape her lips, spitting blood out of her mouth and letting it splatter and stain the floor.

Her whole body felt like it was on fire as he stood over her, his fists clenched. She slumped lifelessly on the ground, focusing on inflating and deflating her lungs – and the burning that came with every breath. "What are you?" he asked her coolly. When she didn't respond, his boot collided with her side, knocking the wind out of her. "What are you?"

"Property of Hydra," she sputtered. The way her voice rattled in her throat as she wheezed caused her body to convulse into a fit of coughs. Crimson droplets spattered on the ground next to her, and as she dug her fingertips into the blood-smeared floor to try and steady herself, her hands slipped, and she collapsed into herself.

He wasn't going to let her die.

Her superior knelt down next to her, so close she could feel his hot breath against her skin. "Look at me."

In the hopes that if she complied, he wouldn't hit her again, she lifted her head, her muscles screaming in agony with every little movement.

"Disgusting fucking _animal_ ," he spat. He looked down at his fist, his upper lip curling, before slowly wiping his knuckles across her cheek, leaving behind a smeared trail of her own blood on her skin. Drawing his gun, he tilted her head up with the barrel, muzzle pressed firmly at her throat, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the marks he'd left. "Fucking shame you make me do this. You could very well be a pretty little thing if you were better."

Too exhausted to be afraid anymore, she closed her eyes and rested her chin on the barrel, wishing he'd have the decency to pull the trigger.

Instead, he pushed her back down with it, the corners of his lips twitching sadistically. " _Tch_. Pathetic."

She slumped back down on the ground, her breaths wheezing and burning in her lungs. Her superior studied her through narrowed eyes. "Are you ready to comply? Or is there still some defiance left?" She could almost hear the smirk on his face as he added; "I've got all day to beat it out of you."

The only response she could muster was a shaky exhale.

Somehow, that seemed to satisfy him. He took a step back, folding his arms, his gun still casually held in his hand as a reminder. "Get up."

She couldn't bring herself to move.

He aimed his gun at her again. "Get up."

Knowing he wouldn't shoot to kill – and reluctant to take on any more pain than she already was in – she mustered all the energy she could, her whole body trembling with effort, as she tried in vain to push herself back up. Her superior clicked his tongue in frustration, sliding his gun back in his holster and grabbing her by the arm to get her back on her feet.

She wobbled, immediately shifting her weight off of her injured leg; shaking uncontrollably, she had to lean on her superior to stay up.

He sighed in annoyance, practically dragging her to the door.

"Before we head out, I thought it might be fun for you to watch the man you've been so conveniently letting slip away _suffer_."

* * *

Forty hours, thirty-six minutes, twenty-two seconds.

Ward joined May in the cockpit – her _quiet_ place – and he brought his disgruntled muttering and bad attitude with him.

"Is there a problem?" she was obligated to ask.

"Victoria Hand," he grumbled. "We don't exactly see eye-to-eye."

"So I hear."

Ward set his jaw, keeping his narrowed gaze out the window.

Thirty-seven minutes, sixteen seconds.

May bit back a sigh. "I'm sure she is utilizing all of SHIELD's resources to find Coulson."

The nagging voice in the back of her mind told her that _if she was, they would have found him by now._

Nineteen seconds.

Twenty seconds.

"How are you not more upset?" Ward asked. "Aren't you and Coulson…?"

May shot him a steely glare. He put his hands up in mock-surrender.

"I'm just speculating," he defended. "It just seems like there's something there."

"There's. Not."

"Okay!" Ward crossed his arms, averting his gaze back out the window.

May sighed. "I'm pissed," she admitted reluctantly. "But being mad won't do anything."

Ward nodded.

Thirty-eight minutes, two seconds.

Three seconds.

Four seconds.

Victoria Hand's voice crackled in; "Agent May. Change of plans. Sending new coordinates now."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"We found their helicopter at a laboratory outside the Mojave Desert."

"Copy that." She fought to conceal the spark of excitement in her voice. "Coordinates received."

Ward offered her a hopeful smile. She quickly dropped her gaze back to the controls. "Hold onto something."

_Hang on Coulson. We're coming for you._

* * *

Coulson definitely hadn't expected to watch Po die today, but then again, he hadn't really anticipated _any_ of the events that had transpired within his time here – apart from being tortured, of course, that was par for the course.

However, being stuck in this room with Raina somehow made him more uneasy.

"The people you work for are just as capable of using cruel means to reach a justified end," she was explaining to him, turning her back.

"SHIELD would never put a bomb in someone's head," he defended. "Or torture an enhanced the way you did with Chan Ho Yin."

"We didn't torture him," Raina said simply – though offered no further explanation.

"And what about Quake?" Coulson prodded. "What kind of cruel means to you use with her?"

Raina whirled around, catching him off guard with the strange expression on her face – a mixture of shock and maybe hurt, like what he'd said offended her. "I have _nothing_ to do with her," she snapped, before closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath. She turned around again. "We all have to do things we might not want to do to reach our goals."

"What are your goals, then?" he asked. "Who do you work for? The _Clairvoyant_?"

She turned to face him again, a soft smile settling on her face. "Yes."

"Who is he?"

"I don't know," she murmured. "Today is the first time I personally made contact." Her smile grew wider as she took another deep breath. "My heart's still _racing_."

"He has you building super soldiers," Coulson commented.

"The Clairvoyant gives us guidance," Raina explained. "Formulas."

"For what?"

She looked at him like he was crazy for asking. "The changing world. The world _your_ organization brought upon us. We're new to the business that you've been doing for _decades_."

"Seems you've added some unconventional business practices," Coulson added. She shrugged, but the sound of a door opening cut her off from responding.

They both looked over – Coulson's stomach churned at the sight.

"So nice of you to join us." Raina's buttery voice just barely masked the horrified undertone that Coulson was able to detect.

The man pushed the girl to the ground, and as she hit the concrete her breath escaped her lungs in a shallow wheeze.

Coulson's stomach lurched.

"I don't think she'll have any more issues being compliant," the man growled. "She seems to have a fascination with this one." He nodded at Coulson.

"Could you take care of Po's body?" Raina asked the man, gesturing over to where Po was slumped in the corner. "I can't work in such gruesome conditions."

The man raised an eyebrow. "You serious?"

Raina batted her eyelashes. "We're so close to getting what we need," she told him. "I would hate to jeopardize our success with my own weak stomach."

The man sighed. "Sure," he muttered.

As he started towards Po's body, Raina added; "Oh, also, I had something I needed to discuss with you-"

"Make it quick," the man growled. As Raina ushered him out of the room, she cast a quick, worried glance over her shoulder at the girl before sweeping it back up to Coulson – then, she shut the door behind her.

"Hey," he called across the room, his stomach twisting the longer he stared at her unmoving form. "Hey, hold out for me, okay? My team's coming soon, I'm sure of it."

His heart skipped a beat when she didn't respond.

"Quake?"

The floor rocked beneath him ever-so-slightly. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to know she was still holding on.

"Okay… okay good. Okay. Just try not to move, yeah? Focus on your breathing, and don't move unless you have to," he told her gently. "We're gonna get out of here. I promise, I'm not leaving you behind."

The door swung open, and in came Raina and the girl's superior, who shot Coulson a dirty look before dragging Po's body out of the room. Raina turned to face him, her placid smile back on her face. "Shall we begin?"

* * *

"Coulson's somewhere here," May said, her voice full of sound resolve. "We need to find him."

They stepped out of the SHIELD van, taking in the scenery – golden sand, abandoned shacks, strange mannequins set up everywhere.

"We should split up," Fitz offered. "Cover more ground."

"Or run." Simmons' voice rose. "We've got company."

May spun around just as a Centipede soldier broke into a run after them. She widened her stance, ready to fight, but Ward beat her to it – taking off towards the Centipede soldier.

"Fan out," May instructed. "Leave no shack unchecked. Coulson is _here_."

Fitz and Simmons nodded, spinning around to take off in their own directions. May broke off on her own path, taking out a few stray Centipede soldiers on her way.

The sound of screaming stopped May in her tracks.

Coulson.

She spun on her heel and took off in the direction the sound had come from. One shack, with a porch and a rocking chair, sitting off to the side among the rest. Her hand hovered over the Night-Night Pistol at her side as she approached the door, took a deep breath, and kicked it open.

Her stomach lurched as she laid eyes on the scene in front of her.

"Please, just let me die, please, please, let me die please-"

Coulson's begging echoed in the room, his voice desperate and breathy as he fought against the machine they had him in. Raina sat next to him but whirled around to face her as she entered. "It's for his own good-"

Before she could finish, a shockwave sent her across the room. She hit her head against the wall and slumped down.

May snapped her attention over to the source – there was the girl, curled on the ground, covered in so much blood May couldn't even fathom how she was still conscious. She collapsed back down, letting out a little cry as she pulled her shaky arm back into herself. After a quick scan of her surroundings, May located the plug that powered the machine, rushing over to pull it out.

"Phil," she breathed, going right back to his side, her stomach twisting at all the blood on his face. She grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight, and held her breath as she waited for him to come back.

"Mel…"

A sigh of relief escaped her lips. "Phil," she murmured again as he squeezed her hand back.

He grunted, shaking a bit with effort as he sat up straight. "Where are Fitz-Simmons and Ward?"

"We spread out," May told him. "To cover more ground." He nodded, pushing himself off the table. "Careful."

But he'd already turned his attention to the girl, and she followed suit as he crouched down next to her. "Told you my team was coming," he chuckled. "Thanks for the help back there."

She eyed them warily, almost like she was waiting for one of them to hurt her.

May's chest tightened.

"I'm going to have to carry you out," Coulson told her gently. "Is that okay?"

She didn't say anything. She didn't even acknowledge him.

With one last little heave of energy, she started pushing herself back up. Coulson reached out. "Hey, hey, take it easy, you really shouldn't-"

In one swift motion, before anyone could react, she grabbed the Night-Night Pistol off of May's hip and took her shot.

* * *

_Falling and falling and falling and falling and falling and your life is not yours to take and falling and falling and falling and see what happens and falling and next time you hesitate and falling and falling and falling and falling and don't ever stop until I tell you to and falling and falling and nod hello to Tongueless Thompson and falling and falling and you owe us your life and falling and turn you over to Whitehall and drain you and falling and nothing left and falling and Daisy Daisy Daisy and falling and falling and hail Hydra and don't show weakness and lift your chin and falling and shoulders back and falling and don't ever let them see you falter and falling and disrespectful shit and falling and property of Hydra property of Hydra property of Hydra property of-_

_And the operating table and the man with a white lab coat and perfectly round glasses murmuring that three-word phrase she still couldn't quite decipher and-_

_Kalmowitz and Hannah Hutchins and Scorch and Mindy and blood and blood and killer killer killer-_

_And murder is the worst sin, they'd said, and murderers don't see God and God will punish and punishment and penance and sin and Hell and children singing God is love and women in black hoods and crosses and bad kid bad kid punishment and stained-glass windows painting colorful shapes on the ground and rows of beds and and shiny metal cross-_

_And a knife pointed straight at her and hazy white bleeding into forest green and a scruffy, young man with dark hair poking out of a red baseball cap came at her but his eyes were still soft and young and he hesitated and she felt bad and fell back and don't show weakness and falling-_

_And blood and blood and blood and-_

_Crying and what did he do why do I have to kill him why please don't make me and-_

_Electrical shock crackling in her neck and-_

_Open your mouth one more time and I will personally rip your larynx out of your throat and hang you with it-_

_And falling and spinning and-_

_Overhead in her cell the rusty pipes creaked and groaned and if only she had some rope and some leverage, the way out was cruelly hanging above her head just out of reach-_

_And falling and falling and the metal cuffs on her wrist and grinding them against her tender skin and spinning and spinning and white and light and bright and-_

_Drowning and drowning and burning in her lungs and she couldn't breathe she couldn't breathe and her sopping wet hair soaked her back as she was dragged back up and-_

_Property of Hydra and-_

_Experimentation and animal and property and-_

_The man with the scalpel and the round glasses and the bright light above her head as somewhere on her lower abdomen the blade pierced her skin and set fire to her stomach and the world grew hazy around her and discovery and property and-_

_Falling and falling and-_

_Bees in her skin buzzing just below the surface and why is everything shaking oh God what have they done to me I'm a monster you're a monster-_

_And don't stop, don't ever stop, take down that pillar, that weak spot, bring this building down, snap her neck, Aunt Hutchins Agent Scorch-_

_And blood and blood and blood killer-_

_And what an interesting fate-_

_Daisy Daisy Daisy-_

_Flowers and dresses and your father-_

_Your father-_

_Daisy Daisy Daisy-_

_Your father-_

_And falling and falling and landing on the concrete and cars passing by and turning the corner to the apartment complex and the man with dark hair standing by the door and hello my Daisy, it's lovely to finally meet you-_

_And fists on her back and bad kid bad kid and broken and stinging burning alcohol smell and bad kid broken kid not a good fit-_

_And how are they treating you Daisy-_

_Not Daisy not Daisy not Daisy-_

_And hungry and lost and scared and stupid kid bad kid ungrateful brat disrespectful little shit-_

_And I can take you from here and you can be safe again, you can be strong again, no one will ever touch you again-_

_And safe safe safe you're safe-_

_And falling and the sky and wispy pink clouds and freedom and vast everlasting sky stretching further than she could possibly imagine and the silvery white crescent glowing overhead and magical white speckles dotting the darkening purple sky and sky and sky and freedom and flying and sky sky sky-_

_And safe you're safe hey it's okay you're okay-_

_And purple bleeding to black and darkness and falling falling falling-_

_And rusty cell, iron cell, dark cell, metal and cuffs and blood and shouting and trapped trapped trapped-_

_And bees in her skin and blades piercing her stomach and discovery and property and electricity and animal and pet and shock collar and hang you shoot you rip out your tongue and your life isn't yours to take and blood and blood and killer killer killer and falling and falling and falling-_

_And wake up, hey wake up-_

_And safe you're safe-_

_Wake up-_

_Falling and falling and-_

_Wake up-_

"Hey, hey, wake up, hey, you're safe-"

The light burned as she blinked open her eyes, and her head whirled as she struggled to adjust to her surroundings. For a moment, all she could feel was warmth and something soft beneath her, and it was almost sort of comforting-

But suddenly every muscle in her screamed _wrong_ , and she snapped her eyes open to see two strangers sitting on the ground in front of her. She looked around frantically, trying to understand this strange room and how she got here and she sat straight up and her muscles felt like they were on _fire_ , everything burned and stung and her lungs felt tight and she inched backwards to put space between her and the strange people and her back hit the wall and-

"Hey, hey, take it easy, you've had a rough few days."

"You're not quite ready to be moving around so much."

"Take a deep breath, you're alright."

As her vision cleared up a bit, she realized that these people weren't strangers. She didn't know the Asian woman's name, but as her eyes landed on the man, she felt herself let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

Phil Coulson.

"Hey," he said again, his voice soft and friendly. "You okay?"

Was she?

Her whole body felt like it was on fire yet her skin was ice and she couldn't stop shivering, everything ached and stung and, quite frankly, she felt like she got hit by a bus.

"You might feel a little groggy. Your fever hasn't quite broken yet, you _did_ hit yourself with .1 microliters of dendrotoxin, and then Simmons kept you under for a bit longer so she could patch you up," he explained gently. Her face must have twisted to betray her confusion, because he clarified; "When we escaped, you shot yourself with a Night-Night Pistol, not an actual gun. We don't shoot to kill, not usually."

Oh.

Right.

She'd done that.

Coulson, thankfully, didn't ask any questions about _why_ she'd tried to shoot herself. She wasn't certain he'd want to hear the answer.

"You lost a lot of blood. Those wounds got infected. Simmons removed the bullets, stitched you up, and gave you a blood transfusion," the woman supplemented.

"It's a good thing Fitz is a universal donor," Coulson joked. 

She had no idea what any of that meant besides that whatever they'd done had kept her _alive_ , and she was starting to grow tired of people doing that. Hydra would never let her die because she had value to them – because they could mold her into their perfect weapon. These people had always seemed so genuinely good, but a nagging voice in the back of her mind sneered that _they were two sides of the same coin_.

_What government agency wouldn't want a walking natural disaster at their disposal?_

Her throat felt dry and sore, and she lifted her arm to her mouth to cough a few times, sending ripples of pain throughout her abdomen. The woman glanced over at Coulson, who nodded encouragingly, and she passed over a mug that she hadn't even noticed had been on the ground next to her. She shrank back, eyeing it cautiously.

"Green tea," the woman explained gently, "with some honey for your throat."

She didn't move a muscle, instead just stared at the pale green mug on the floor.

"I promise, it's just tea," the woman told her, her voice maintaining its even tone. She snapped her attention back up to her, regarding her warily – the woman's eyes held the tiniest flicker of grief, which made her stomach churn sickeningly.

"Take a sip," Coulson urged. "You'll feel better if you do."

Deciding that she didn't quite feel up for learning what they did to defiance around here (although the image of an anguished Coulson kneeling over Kalmowitz's body flashed in her mind, reminding her that _these might not be the same sort of people_ ), she obediently reached out a shaky arm and curled her fingers around the handle of the mug. Trembling with effort – and spilling a bit of the drink on her lap as a result of her unsteady hands – she brought the mug up to her cracked, bloody lips and took a tiny sip.

The tea was earthy and sort of grassy, but subtly sweet and certainly not unpleasant. She let the warm liquid glide down her scratchy throat.

It was… sort of nice.

"I never got to introduce myself," Coulson said. "I'm Agent Phil Coulson. This is Agent Melinda May. We've bumped into each other a few times, namely Hong Kong and Peru."

Though she didn't fully trust them, she allowed herself to relax a bit, letting her eyes wander around the room but always keeping them in her peripheral. The room was dimly lit and sparsely furnished. The walls and floor were composed of the same material, which, she noted curiously, bounced her vibrations back to her when she ran her fingertips along the surface – something she'd decided was simultaneously perplexing _and_ entertaining. They'd put a mattress in the corner where she sat, and a few pillows and blankets were piled up next to her.

A quick vibrational scan told her there were about three others in the building – and that this wasn't a building at all. She could tell, even in this strangely insulated room, that the vibrations outside were loud and roaring, unstably ripping by like a storm-stirred sea.

Or a plane.

"You must be hungry," the woman – May – noted. "Simmons said your digestive system will need a few days to adjust to solid food again, but I can get you some soup."

 _You didn't earn it,_ echoed the voice of an angry superior. _You earn everything in this life._

Funny, in five minutes she'd been introduced to these new superiors, but in all the years with Hydra, she never learned her old superiors' names.

Her body convulsed into another fit of coughs, but as she opened her eyes and pulled her arm away from her mouth, she was surprised to find that her sleeve was gray rather than the usual black. Confused, she noticed that she was in completely different clothes – a pair of soft, black, baggy joggers and a large gray sweatshirt that, upon pulling at the hem to look at the front, she noticed had a huge Captain America shield printed on it.

"Your clothes were stuck to you, so in order to operate Simmons had to cut them off of you," May explained. "Like we said, there was… a lot of blood."

"May gave you her extra pair of SHIELD joggers," Coulson added. "And that's my old Cap hoodie."

As she felt another tickle rising in her throat, she brought the mug back up to her lips and took another sip, not missing the little nod Coulson made towards May, or the subtle rearrangement of May's features for just a moment in response. The way they communicated was intriguing – she noted that they felt like a single unit, one entity split in two.

She wondered what that was like.

"What's your name?" Coulson asked as she placed the mug back down on the floor. "I assume you have a name other than 'Quake.'"

She froze.

She'd had a name at one point - actually she'd had a few, that much she knew for a fact. A vast number of labels had tagged her at one point or another, though now they were smearing and smudging away.

They'd called her Quake, but she _wasn't_ Quake. They'd stripped her of any identity she might have had and marked her with a word that defined only what she could do for them; it wasn't who she was.

_Daisy Daisy Daisy-_

_Your father misses you Daisy-_

She didn't recognize that word as belonging to her, either. Maybe at some point it might have, maybe somewhere in the dark corners of her mind where she'd boxed away old lives, sealed them up and pushed them away, she had been a Daisy.

But that wasn't her.

One name, one four letter word, burned long and bright, tucked away where they could never take it from her. One thing she still owned. One thing that was still _hers_.

One name she'd _never_ let them have, so no matter what they could _never_ take it away from her.

But Coulson and May…

Her eyes flitted between the two of them, searching for the catch, the _gotcha_ , almost hoping to find any trace of animosity, because then she'd know for sure where she stood. At least that was familiar, at least she'd know how to act to please them – if she wouldn't be allowed to die, then at least she'd obey the rules and bide her time as painlessly as they'd let her.

She couldn't find any.

All she saw there was a certain type of softness she wasn't sure she'd ever encountered before – if she had, it had been fleeting, and locked away so she wouldn't dwell on it.

And while every instinct screamed at her that this was all a trick, this was too good to be true, they were giving her false hope just to take it away from her again…

She took a deep breath.

"Skye."

Her whole body trembled uncontrollably as she loosened her grip on the one last thing she had that was truly _hers_ , presenting it to these strangers and hoping they didn't rip it from her grasp and tear it apart right in front of her. But the agents' eyes were warm, and they smiled at her with such kindness that her chest was starting to feel a bit lighter.

"That's a beautiful name," May murmured. "Did you choose that yourself?"

She nodded shyly, her cheeks burning as she ducked her head.

"Skye," Coulson echoed. His grin stretched from ear to ear. "It's so lovely to meet you, Skye."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smh 6 chapters later and I can finally start writing Skye with her name (yes that was a stylistic choice was it worth it idk man that's for you to decide), but literally writing a character’s inner thoughts and experiences for like 15,000 words (?) and NOT being able to call them by a name TESTED MY PATIENCE i-
> 
> (Also, [@cloudy-paws](https://cloudy-paws.tumblr.com/) \- I’ve been dumping a lot of fic-related content over there, like teasers or sneak peeks or little details that might sneak in later, so give it a follow if that’s your thing!)


	7. Humanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry I missed two weeks, I’ve been dealing with a lotta shit in my personal life and it’s been taking a toll on my mental health and you know, real life before fanfic yea? But I did feel bad, so here, a couple days early (I will be sticking to Mondays though, this was just... idk, impulsive.) 
> 
> Also, after careful consideration I’ve decided that I’m pushing updates now to every other week for my own mental sanity while I balance 3 jobs and school. I hope that’s chill with everyone - it's uhhh gonna have to be. *shrugs*
> 
> (And thank you to Vi, Cas, M, Z, and Milie for putting up with my constant panic/complaining over this fic - and for keeping me sane and reminding me that this is supposed to be fun and not stressful. Love y’all <3)

"Good morning… Skye, was it?"

The young British woman almost startled her as she entered the room – curiously, she was finding that whatever material this room was composed of made it difficult to sense the vibrations in the _rest_ of the plane, and that fact alone was enough to make her uneasy.

She – _Skye_ , they were insisting on calling her by her name ( _which was maybe almost sort of nice_ ) – suppressed a tremor that shuddered its way down her spine as the door swung open. The girl was dressed very smartly in a pair of black jeans and a dark red sweater, a white collar poking out at the top. Brown, wavy hair cascaded down her shoulders, and if it weren't for the medical kit hanging off her arm, Skye might have felt her shoulders relax at the sight of her.

Instead, she tensed up and clamped down on some anxious vibrations rippling under the surface.

The girl stopped where she was, her huge hazel eyes trained right on her. "Right," she murmured to herself, flashing Skye a reassuring smile. "My name is Jemma Simmons. I'm a part of Coulson's team. We didn't ever formally meet – though I _did_ save your life."

(She hadn't asked for that, but she was, for some reason, finding it a bit difficult to be mad at this woman for doing so.)

Skye's stomach flipped as she flicked her gaze from the medical kit to the woman's kind eyes. She hugged her knees a little tighter to her chest, warily scanning the girl's vibrations. They radiated off of her in eager, albeit slightly uneasy waves, reinforced by tense muscles and that wobbly, sweet smile. She seemed nice enough, but a smile could mean a thousand things.

Raina smiled because she knew something others didn't – or knew secrets better left buried – and would use the information as leverage to instigate or to get what she wanted.

Her superior smiled because he enjoyed setting her straight – he got some form of pleasure from inflicting pain and watching her suffer, he practically scrutinized her every move just so he could have a chance to punish her.

_The man in the white lab coat smiled because discovery-_

Jemma took a few slow steps towards her, and instinctually Skye shrank back, despite the friendly vibrations the woman gave off. "I'm not going to hurt you," she told her softly, kneeling down beside her. "I just need to check your stitches, and make sure everything's healing properly. Is that okay?"

Skye didn't dare move a muscle. The woman's voice was light and the way she'd phrased her sentences sounded almost like Skye had a choice, but she knew better than to trust it. She'd never had a choice about anything, _especially_ medical.

This proved true (but again, it was hard to be upset with someone who seemed so sweet and heartfelt, even if it _was_ just deception – that was still yet to be determined). Jemma nodded to herself and gently, almost cautiously, she asked; "Could you take off your hoodie so I can take a closer look at that shoulder?"

Skye slowly unfolded her legs, wincing as dull pain coursed through her entire body at the movement. Obediently, she carefully pulled the hoodie back over her head and set it aside, shivering as the cool air hit her bare skin.

Jemma's expression darkened a bit as she took in all of the bruising on Skye's torso. "Oh, Skye…" she breathed, covering her mouth with a slender hand.

Skye glanced down at herself, unsurprised to see the yellowing purple bruises that covered a majority of her abdomen, before the pinky-white lines on her arm caught her attention; she felt a sudden and overwhelming feeling in her chest that she couldn't quite place as she realized that it was incomplete, that Ace's Aunt Mindy hadn't been added.

(And somewhere in a corner of her mind she could _hear_ the woman's hollow wheezing as her breaths squeezed through her airways and she could _feel_ the woman's rapid, haphazard, pulsating heart as all the color drained from her face and she'd stood her ground when Mindy collapsed, her hands clasping over her chest, convulsing on the floor as she exhaled all the oxygen she had left and her body lost its grasp on life and she didn't even bat an eye as Ace shrieked in terror, as massive, crystalline tears flooded in his eyes, and _she'd_ done that, _she'd_ caused that, _she'd_ taken away that kid's family and it was _her fault her fault_ _her fault-_ )

"Right." Jemma cleared her throat, bringing Skye back down to earth. "Sorry. They only look worse because they're healing. You're healing _remarkably_ fast…" Her horrified expression morphed into one of undisguised interest, her vibrations spiking as her curiosity took over. Skye's chest tightened at the all-to-familiar sensation that she was nothing more than a lab rat.

Skye watched warily, her heart skipping a few beats as Jemma opened her medical kit and pulled out a pair of blue gloves. Without her realizing, she'd started tapping her fingertips against the mattress, letting the cushiony material soak up some of the excess vibrations that had been building up inside of her. Jemma glanced back up at her, offering her a reassuring smile. "I'm going to have to change the dressing on your shoulder; there's no need to be nervous," she told her gently. "It's not going to hurt."

After pulling on the gloves, she reached for Skye's bare shoulder – Skye instinctually recoiled away, her breath catching in her throat as she nearly released one of the tremors before dispersing the rogue vibrations through the mattress. "I promise, Skye." She stopped, thinking for a moment. "Skye… you chose that name for yourself, right?"

Hesitantly, Skye nodded, overtly aware of the Brit's nitrile fingertips grazing her skin.

"That's a beautiful name," Jemma expressed, gently starting to peel the dressing off of her trembling shoulder. "One of these days, you'll have to tell me why you chose it. Of course, only if you want to, there's no pressure."

Images of cotton-candy skies flashed in Skye's mind for a moment – of birds soaring overhead and wispy pink clouds swirling in an open, painted horizon. A tug in her chest ached to see it again, but instead another tremor shook its way down her spine as she felt the cool air hit the bullet wound on her shoulder.

She flinched away as Jemma reached for it again.

"You know," Jemma quickly continued, switching out her gloves and depositing the old dressing in a plastic bag. She pulled out a small, unlabeled bottle with what looked like just water – but looks were deceiving, it could be drugs, she'll drug her and dull her senses so _she can't fight back and then she'll-_

"I've always been interested in the sky." She pressed a piece of gauze against the top of the bottle and flipped it upside down to soak it. "Well, more specifically the stars. Astronomy, I should say. I've always thought that it was so fascinating – there's so much out there, so much we don't know. And it's all so beautiful and vast."

Skye had suddenly found herself so entranced in the way the Brit spoke about the stars that she hadn't even noticed that Jemma had started patting the wound with the gauze until she stopped speaking. She'd never really heard anyone else share her interest in the sky, and there was something intrinsically beautiful about the way her favorite topic passionately rolled off of Jemma's tongue. Once it was quiet again, however, she winced at her touch, fighting every single urge, every little muscle that screamed at her to put as much space between them as possible.

Jemma's eyes flicked up to meet hers, and upon realizing that her fear had settled back in she quickly started to fill the silence again. "You know Skye, we can see stars that are at _least_ twenty quadrillion miles away. At _least_. Isn't that fascinating? And stars are created and die out over the course of millions, even billions of years. Their brilliant light comes from a chemical reaction – you see, a star on the main sequence glows as it fuses hydrogen into helium. And when exceptionally large stars run out of hydrogen to burn, they explode in what's called a supernova." She taped down a piece of gauze on Skye's shoulder, jolting her out of her mind's imagery of glimmering stars in a cosmic-painted galaxy. "There, see? All done. You can put your hoodie back on, but I just need to do the same to your leg now too."

Skye shivered, keeping a cautious gaze on Jemma as she slowly reached for the Captain America hoodie. A little miffed that Jemma had managed to lower her guard almost completely, she quickly pulled the hoodie over her head in an effort to minimize the time she spent blinded – for all she knew, Jemma was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

(But Jemma didn't seem like she had an evil bone in her body, and Skye was _almost_ okay with her having to dress her other wound, especially if it meant listening to the pretty Brit talk at length about their newfound shared interest-)

"Right then," Jemma decided. "Let's see about that leg."

Skye wasn't certain why she was grateful that Jemma busied herself fiddling with her medical tools while she painfully slipped her legs out of May's sweats, but she was.

Jemma changed her gloves once more before bending over Skye's leg, her fingertips brushing against the edges of the gauze. Skye resisted the urge to shrink away, instead letting her thumb tap away the building vibrations into the mattress, and Jemma paused, looking back up at Skye. "Did you want to keep talking about the stars? Would that help?"

Was it a choice? Skye studied Jemma's face for any sign that this was a trick question – there _had_ to be a right answer that she was looking for, there always was.

But all she saw was a gentle, harmless smile and those big, excited eyes that held a million little stars in them.

And, despite her better judgement, she nodded in response.

Jemma offered her a reassuring grin, turning her attention back down as she began to work again. "Stars are clustered into galaxies, which also are home to large amounts of gas, dust, and dark matter. Galaxies can hold anywhere between a few million to a _trillion_ stars, and there's an estimated _one-hundred-billion galaxies in the universe_. Did you know that it's theorized that there are at least one-hundred stars for every grain of sand? Every last _grain of sand_ , Skye."

Jemma trailed off, the corners of her lips dropping as she pulled back the dressing on Skye's leg. The wound on her thigh looked, admittedly, pretty gruesome. Perhaps it was the fact that her superior had made her walk on it, or maybe it was the amount of time she'd spent with an open wound pressed against a filthy floor-

_(-misdemeanor and Whitehall and disgusting fucking animal and property property property and-)_

-Of course, she hadn't been able to see the one on her shoulder, so she couldn't compare the two. But even Jemma sucked in a sharp breath when she laid eyes on it.

"I mean, it _is_ an improvement," Jemma offered.

Skye raised an eyebrow; but very quickly she remembered that _she wasn't supposed to- she should never- she wasn't allowed to-_ and wiped the expression right off her face.

But the corners of Jemma's mouth lifted, curving it into a graceful little smile that made Skye feel a little bit lighter, if not just for a moment.

"You're in much better shape now," she elaborated. "If I'm being honest, I really wasn't certain I _could_ save you."

There it was again. Skye stamped out that tiny flicker of annoyance at having her chance to die taken from her _again_.

(Because Jemma meant well, she meant well, really, she did-)

(But what if it was just-)

(What if-)

_(What would they do to her-)_

She didn't get that choice. She should know that by now.

_Your life isn't yours-_

_Property of-_

"Um, right… this one might sting," Jemma apologized. "I'll keep explaining about black holes, then?"

Skye nodded without really thinking – the way the Brit spoke fascinated her, with her lilting voice and the way all those words fluttered from her lips so effortlessly, strung together in such a way that Skye could get herself almost comfortably lost in all of the information.

(And Jemma hadn't hurt her yet, she wasn't sure that Jemma was even capable of hurting anyone even if she really wanted to-)

"It's thought that in the center of every galaxy lies a supermassive black hole, which actually brings us back to the end of star life cycles," Jemma started. "Black holes are formed in a supernova event, and in essence, everything that remains of the star collapses down into a small, dense object. Gravity is intense around these objects, which is where black holes get their 'sucking' reputation from – even light is pulled in, a bit like water going down the drain, if you want to picture that. There are three types of black holes – the smallest are primordial, which can be as small as an atom or as large as a mountain. The largest are supermassive, which are more than one million times more massive than the sun. And in the middle are stellar black holes, which are about twenty times more massive than the sun. There's actually a wide variety of stellar black holes scattered throughout the Milky Way. There. All done."

Skye frowned. She hadn't even felt a thing, and she was so enraptured by this woman speaking about something she'd adored all her life, she wasn't quite certain she was ready for her to leave.

Jemma nodded towards the joggers. "You're all set, if you'd like to put those back on as well."

She winced as she reached for the sweats, slipping her slender legs back through the holes.

"I brought you some aspirin if you'd like something for the pain," Jemma offered. "Are you hungry at all? I still wouldn't advise you to have too much solid food yet – your stomach is very weak from malnourishment – but we can bring you something easier on the stomach like soup or oatmeal."

Skye pulled her knees up to her chest, pushing her back against the wall. Jemma watched her, her brows pulled together in a strange, almost melancholic expression – one that almost sort of reflected pity or concern, both of which Skye didn't deserve. She rested her chin on her knees and kept her eyes downcast, all the while making sure she had Jemma entirely in her line of vision just in case.

(But why did she feel so _tired_ all of a sudden?)

Jemma's eyes clouded for a moment, her lips twitching downward before she straightened back up, zipping up the med kit. "Well then," she chirped, her vibrations changing in frequency just the slightest to match. "It was very nice meeting you Skye – well, meeting you while you're _conscious_ I suppose I should say." Jemma cracked a humorous smile at her own joke, and Skye found herself returning a little, wobbly smile of her own at the Brit's endearing nature before it slipped right back off her face. "I'll let you rest for now, but I'll see you later."

Jemma hesitated for a moment, unable to pull her gaze away from her, before standing up and turning around.

Skye watched her leave until she shut the door behind her, and then watched the door through tired, burning eyes, all the while gnawing on her fingernails, trying to make sense of everything.

* * *

Out in the field, Coulson had always seen the Hydra asset – Skye, her name was _Skye_ – as dangerous and maybe even a little intimidating, despite the fact that he had been so certain it _wasn't_ her (as May had put it, it was her lack of control that made her a threat). But now, looking at the feed from the Cage, watching her as she hugged her knees to her chest, backed up in a corner, staring at the door warily… she looked small, and fragile, and incredibly _young_.

Simmons had returned from the Cage looking optimistic, despite this. "She's healing _remarkably_ fast," she'd announced. Coulson smiled over at May, who quickly averted her gaze back down to her green tea; he caught the tiniest upwards twitch of her lips, the most minute flicker of warmth in her eyes. "Of course, I have several concerns, mainly regarding her malnourishment, but as for her physical wounds she's days ahead of schedule."

"Really?" Fitz asked around a mouthful of cereal. "That's impressive."

"There's so much untapped potential flowing through her veins," Simmons continued. "I'm absolutely _dying_ to know how her powers work, what caused them, what triggers them, if they're genetic or synthetic, how it affects _everything_ – I have a theory that it's some form of genetic mutation in her DNA sequences, because that would also explain how she's able to heal so rapidly and endure so much physical trauma – more than the average human could."

"That makes her dangerous," Ward growled from the couch, flicking his eyes up from his cup of coffee. "I say we send her to the Raft before she kills us all."

Simmons shot him a glare across the room before swiftly shifting the conversation back to the positive. " _I_ think she'd make a great addition to the team, sir," she addressed Coulson as he popped his bagel out of the toaster. "She's definitely got a lot of trauma to work through, but she's certainly a fighter."

"That is, if she _wants_ to join us," May butted in, not looking up from her tea. "She might very well want to leave when she can."

"Can we, in good faith, release someone like that into the world?" Ward challenged. "May, do you feel safe letting a dangerous enhanced murderer walk the streets like that? She could become a _vigilante_ , and then we've got an even bigger problem on our hands."

Again, Simmons ignored Ward's grumbling. "And it would be _wonderful_ to have another girl on the Bus to talk to."

Fitz raised his hand. "Uh, _again_ , if Simmons gets a girl, I want a monkey, it's only fair."

Ward shook his head, gritting his teeth in disgust. "Are you guys failing to see the severity of the situation? This doesn't _bother_ anyone at all?"

May pulled her attention up from her tea and shot him a look that could _kill_. "Ward, do you forget that this woman saved our asses _twice_?"

"May," Ward said, matching her even and calm tone. "Do you forget that this is the same woman who _killed_ Kal?"

"Stand down, Ward," Coulson warned him, ignoring the _I-can-handle-this_ glare May shot him in response. "We'll take it day by day. Skye doesn't seem to be hostile – she appears to be more _afraid_ than anything else."

Ward shook his head and muttered something under his breath before getting up and storming out of the room.

Simmons's gaze bounced from Coulson to May to Fitz. "Just to be clear, we're not sending Skye to the Raft, right?"

"Of course not," Coulson informed her. May nodded in agreement, taking a sip of her tea. Simmons smiled.

"Okay… good."

"The water in the kettle is still hot if you want some tea," May told her. Simmons nodded.

"Thank you," she responded, heading over to the stove to make herself a mug of English breakfast tea before taking her spot next to Fitz.

"What's Ward all fussed about anyway?" Fitz asked. "It's not like she's ever done anything to him personally."

"Oh, he's just upset 'cause there's someone stronger than him on the Bus now," Simmons snorted. May raised an eyebrow, and Simmons quickly shot her a sheepish smile before ducking her head and casting her attention back down to her tea.

Coulson smirked to himself, shaking his head as he spread some cream cheese on a bagel.

"Phil, look," May interjected, pointing at the feed from the Cage. Coulson's eyes widened as Ward threw the door open, storming over towards Skye. She flinched, cowering under him.

"What the fuck," Coulson muttered under his breath. "Fitz-Simmons, stay here. May, let's go."

"I'll deal with Ward," May told him as they headed down the stairs. "You make sure she's okay."

"Seriously, what _is_ his problem with her?" Coulson asked, unable to mask the annoyance lacing his voice. "He doesn't even know her."

"I mean, neither do we," May commented. "I get where he's coming from, but this is totally out of line."

"What's going on Ward?" Coulson demanded as he opened the door to the Cage. Ward didn't even turn to acknowledge him, keeping his eyes trained on Skye, his fists clenching and unclenching by his sides.

"Do you even know who you killed?" Ward's voice was a low, threatening growl, and it made Skye shrink back, her eyes huge as she stared at seething man in front of her. "Do you understand that these are _human beings_ you've murdered?"

"Ward-" May warned, her voice scathing.

"His name was Tristan Adam Kalmowitz, son to Levana and Simon Kalmowitz, who were absolutely _devastated_ when you took away their _only child._ He was a computer _genius,_ he was brilliant, and he was witty." Ward took a step back, shaking his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "But you wouldn't know that, would you? Because you fucking killed him. Like a savage fucking _animal_ -"

"Agent Ward," Coulson snapped. Skye recoiled, the floor beneath them swaying as she accidentally released a tremor.

"Really?" Ward growled, towering over her. "I bet you'd _love_ to quake the goddamn plane apart and bring us all down with you – I fucking _bet_ your superiors sent you here on a goddamn suicide mission. I will _never_ let you hurt _anyone_ on this plane. You understand?"

"Ward," May snarled, stepping towards him. "Stand. Down."

"Now, Ward." Coulson narrowed his eyes as Ward finally turned to face them.

"Come with me," May ordered. " _Now_."

He shook his head, turning back to Skye. "Know your place," he spat, before turning back and storming out of the Cage. May shot a glance over at Coulson - which he read as frustrated, though to the naked eye it would look... just as stoic as always, probably - before turning to follow Ward out.

"You okay?" Coulson asked Skye once they'd left. She didn't respond, which didn't surprise him. She shook like a leaf, cowering in the corner, her eyes wide as she stared at him. "Take a deep breath Skye. You're okay. I promise."

She hugged her legs close to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. Coulson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry about Ward. He can be a bit… well. You know." He cracked a humorous smile, but it didn't seem to help with her nerves. "I was actually about to bring you some food. You know, before… that." He gestured towards the door dramatically. "Do you need anything else?"

Of course, as expected, she didn't respond. "I'll be right back." He offered her a friendly smile before turning and heading back upstairs.

"Simmons, what did you say would be good food to start her on?" Coulson asked when he made it back to the kitchen. Simmons looked up from her tea.

"Things that are gentle on the stomach and easily digestible. Oatmeal, toast, applesauce, eggs…" Simmons trailed off, worry darkening her features. "Everything okay? How is she?"

"She's shaken," Coulson admitted.

"Well yeah, she was just threatened by a killer robot," Fitz snorted, earning a chuckle from Simmons.

Coulson shook his head, smiling to himself and popping a couple pieces of bread in the toaster. "How was she for you, Simmons? When May and I saw her last night, she was a bit nervous."

Simmons nodded. "Yes, I agree. She's definitely skittish around medical," she reported. "I found that distracting her by talking about the stars really helped."

Coulson raised an eyebrow. "How'd you reach that conclusion?"

Simmons shrugged. "Her name is Skye, and you said she _chose_ that name. I figured it was for a reason. I sort of went on a tangent about astronomy, though she seemed really interested. I have some old books I might bring down for her, I think she might really like them."

"I wanted to go down there and introduce myself later today, but I don't want to upset her further," Fitz lamented.

"I'd give her a bit more time to settle in," Simmons agreed. The toaster popped, and Coulson pulled out the bread and started spreading some butter on it. "I'll let you know how she is tomorrow though, and maybe if she's doing better you can come meet her."

"He's blowing off steam," came May's voice from the doorway. Coulson nodded in response, cutting the toast in half and placing an applesauce cup next to it on the plate.

"What's his deal?" Simmons asked.

May shrugged. "Hard to say."

Coulson sighed. "All I know is it'll probably take a while to undo the damage he caused." He grabbed a napkin and a bottle of water. "I'm going to go try and get some food into her."

"Good luck," May murmured.

"Let me know how she does with it," Simmons added. "We can start incorporating other foods into her diet once we see how her body reacts to that."

"I will," he promised as he headed out the door.

Ward's angry grunts followed by the dull _thudding_ of fists on a punching bag reverberated throughout the plane. As he approached the door to the Cage, he wondered if Skye could hear – or if she could feel his angry vibrations, he still wasn't entirely certain how that worked.

Something told him she could, though.

"Hey," he called as he let himself back in, making his voice as gentle and friendly as he possibly could. Skye regarded him warily, biting down hard on the nail of her thumb. "I'm back. I brought food - you must be hungry."

Skye didn't peel her eyes off of him, but he could feel her anxious tremors skittering across the floor with every step he took towards her. He stopped short, then bent down to sit on the ground a good few feet away. This caught her off guard – she raised an eyebrow, unsure of his intentions; her teeth worked away the skin on her knuckle.

"It's nothing special," he continued, his voice as even and gentle as he could get it. "Simmons said that applesauce would be a good way to start, and that toast wouldn't hurt either, since it's easy on the stomach." Placing the plate of food on the ground, he slid it with just enough force for it to stop right by Skye's feet. She inhaled sharply, inching away, her back pressed firmly against the wall.

Coulson's chest tightened, unable to peel his eyes off the girl as she cowered away from the meal.

"We're not going to hurt you," he promised. "I just figured you were probably hungry." She didn't respond; her eyes flicked back and forth from the food to him. "Please, Skye, if there's anything I can do to make you more comfortable, tell me."

She pulled her knees up to her chest, her eyes huge as she stared at him.

"I promise you Skye," Coulson prompted gently. "It's okay. You can speak to us. I'd love to hear what you have to say, really."

She shuddered, drawing a shaky, hollow breath. And in a hoarse, gravelly, barely audible voice, she murmured; "I didn't earn this."

"You didn't-" Coulson stopped, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Every time Skye opened her mouth and revealed a little of what Hydra had done to her, his stomach churned in horror. "You don't need to _earn_ your right to eat, Skye."

She bit down hard enough on her knuckle to draw blood.

"You need your strength," he told her, relaxing into his position on the floor, making it clear he wasn't going anywhere. "Please, it's okay, I promise. Just try to eat a little bit, okay?"

Keeping him in her line of sight, she slowly uncurled herself and reached for the applesauce, lifting the cup with trembling hands. Casting one last dubious glance his direction, her eyes flicked back down to the cup, and she lifted a small spoonful to her mouth.

Coulson smiled to himself, quietly sitting with her while she nibbled at the toast. She left about a quarter piece of toast and a little bit of applesauce, but he was just content to get a little bit of food in her.

They sat in silence for a little bit after. Coulson's hope was to desensitize her to his presence; to show her that he, and the rest of the team, weren't going to hurt her. While Ward might have set them several steps backwards, Coulson was determined to reverse that damage.

He was surprised when after a while, Skye hesitantly asked; "What are you going to do with me?"

Coulson, honestly, hadn't really gotten that far yet. He would love to keep her on the team – after all, he knew she'd make a great addition and would be a force to be reckoned with. However, he also knew that, like May had expressed earlier, she might not want to stay in this line of work after all.

There was also the issue of protocol – he'd managed to sneak her on the Bus after Hand and the other agents finally left, but of course there were definitely regulations surrounding harboring an enemy; not that she was one, of course, but SHIELD HQ would probably see her as one.

Or, he'd have to make a very strong case for her.

"I'm not quite sure," he admitted. "I suppose it's sort of up to you – what you want to do."

Skye's expression darkened considerably, and without hesitation she muttered; "You have to kill me."

His stomach flipped. "What?"

She dug her teeth into the cuticle of her pointer finger. A nervous shudder passed down her spine and into the ground, rocking the plane. Again, she breathed; "Please. You have to kill me."

Coulson knitted his brow. "Absolutely not."

Skye's eyes widened with desperation. " _Please_ , sir," she begged, her voice barely a broken whisper. "I-I can't go back, and I can't stay here."

"Skye." He looked her right in the eyes, and she quickly dropped her gaze, shrinking back. "Skye, I _promise_ you, you are _never_ going back. But you'll always have a place here if you choose to stay."

" _No_ , you don't-" She stopped, clasping a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry," she breathed. "I'm sorry, I didn't- I'm sorry, please don't-"

"Skye, hey, take a deep breath, you're okay." Coulson had to stamp down the urge to reach out, knowing full well it would only freak her out more. "You're safe," he repeated gently. "You're safe."

She shook her head wildly, pulling her knees back up t o her chest. Her breathing shallowed, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Coulson felt the ground rock beneath him again.

"Skye," he said gently. "I need you to calm down. Everything's okay."

The quaking subsided, but Coulson didn't miss the fleeting way her face twisted in pain. Instead, she started drumming her fingertips against the mattress, her muscles tense and her chest rising and falling rapidly, irregularly.

"You can talk to any of us," Coulson told her. "I know this is all so different and new, and it's probably overwhelming. But I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

The tapping sped up, and Coulson could hear her wheezing breaths from his spot on the floor. With every passing moment it seemed like her anxiety was only building up, and with a sinking feeling, he realized it might be better to leave her alone for a little while so she could cool off.

"I'm sorry, I'll give you some space," he offered. "And I apologize on behalf of Ward. I think he's just a little tense right now. If you need anything, feel free to come find me or anyone else on the plane. The door's unlocked. Otherwise, we'll probably be popping in and out to check on you." He stood, his knees cracking a little bit, and then flashed her a humorous smile. "Boy, I'm getting old!"

The joke didn't quite land; Skye flinched as he stood, tensing up more than she already was, almost as if she was bracing herself.

Coulson murmured a soft farewell before turning around and leaving the terrified girl behind.

* * *

_Do you know who I am?_

_Because you will._

Skye's eyes burned as she stared at the door, every muscle in her body achingly tense as she actively clamped down on anxious vibrations bubbling beneath the surface. She couldn't remember a single moment since first waking up in this vibration-stifling room that she'd rested – she _refused_ , there were too many new people to keep track of.

That one man – Ward – scared the shit out of her.

(She couldn't shake the feeling that he was oddly familiar-)

He'd burst into the room, aggressive vibrations rippling off of him in jabbing bursts, just barely masking a more urgent, tumultuous, maybe even nervous undertone. He'd marched right up to her, his fists clenched and trembling with rage; he'd leaned over her and growled those six words.

_Do you know who I am?_

And it sounded like a _threat_ – he'd followed it up almost immediately afterwards with _because you will,_ but there had maybe even been a sense of urgency, a question, a genuine _question_ hidden underneath.

(And he seemed _familiar_ in the type of eerie way that made her feel like she'd seen a ghost of her past, but not quite enough to place – though her memories _were_ hazy; several blurry faces lived behind her eyes, haunting her, so it was hard to tell-)

_(But foresty green and earthy scents and soft terrain beneath her feet; but spooked vibrations of wildlife spiking all around her, stilled by the steadiness of the earth and the gentle sway of the trees; but a young man in a red baseball cap and a knife; but it was hard to tell, she didn't have a face to go off of, and though the foggy memories lived within her head, they felt so foreign that who's to say they were even her own?)_

One little tremor escaped her grasp, and beneath her she felt the floor shudder in response.

At least in Hydra, before Coulson came into her life and _ruined_ everything, she'd known what to expect, how to act, who to fear most. She had her routine and she had her survival tactics. But here, she knew nothing at all – she didn't know if Ward was like her superiors, she didn't know who was in charge, she didn't know what the rules were. All she knew was that if Hydra ever got their hands back on her, they'd never stop torturing her.

If Hydra ever so much as saw her again, there'd be hell to pay.

The floor shook again.

A pained cry escaped her lips as she redirected another quake inward, letting it rattle her bones. She'd been doing this _all day_ , and it was getting harder and harder to keep her anxiety induced frequencies at bay; her arms were nearing excruciating pain once more, and she knew that tomorrow when Jemma came around again her arms would be an unsightly shade of purple.

Her chest felt full of water, and her throat scratched like sandpaper, and she was so incredibly _exhausted_. Ever since waking up here, it felt like one thing after another and she was _tired_ of being so afraid and in so much pain _all the time_.

She rested her head against the wall, her eyelids starting to grow heavy, and just as she was starting to debate whether or not letting herself drift off would be such a bad thing, she picked up on a shift in vibrations just outside the door.

It was faint, but there.

Her breath snagged in her throat as the door opened.

The vibrations hit her first. That woman – May – had a very _specific_ frequency that she found rather calming. She wasn't sure how she'd done it, but May somehow had managed to keep such a firm grasp on her own vibrations, smoothing them over and calming them down until they resembled a gentle lap of waves in the sand – soothing and serene, a placid, predictable push and pull.

"Can I sit?" May asked gently.

Skye didn't respond – it didn't matter. She didn't have a choice. She never did.

And she was too tired to protest either way.

May nodded to herself before taking a few steps towards her and taking a seat on the ground – like Coulson, she maintained a comfortable, respectful distance. "You're worrying yourself sick," she murmured. "Try to focus on your breathing."

May demonstrated, taking long, deep breaths through her nose and letting them out slowly through her mouth. Almost instinctually, Skye mimicked her.

"There, like that." May folded her hands in her lap; Skye couldn't quite read the expression on her face, but her vibrations remained the exact same.

As they sat together, quietly observing each other, Skye came to the conclusion that May and Raina had a lot of similarities – they both always seemed to be able to look straight into the soul. The difference was, with Raina, Skye felt violated, like she was digging for secrets to use as ammunition.

With May, it felt like mutual understanding.

(But who's to say she wouldn't-)

"You're tired," May commented gently. "Why don't you rest?"

Skye's heart skipped a beat. She couldn't rest. She couldn't, she couldn't, she couldn't-

They'd come, they'd do something. Ward would come back. Coulson would finally turn on her. Jemma would do her experiments like she wanted to – she was sweet, sure, but Skye _knew_ she had an interest in her powers, it was so obvious, and she'd come while she was sleeping and she'd-

Or Ward, with his angry fists, he'd-

Or-

"Skye." May stood and came closer; Skye's entire body started to tremble as her heart rate spiked again and she struggled to reign in the anxious vibrations bouncing among her fingertips and stirring beneath her skin, even as she started tapping against the mattress. "Skye, focus on your breathing."

She couldn't- she couldn't-

May sat down on the mattress, and Skye's breath caught in her throat at the closeness. Involuntarily, a strange, hollow whimper escaped her lips, and another little quake slipped through her grasp.

"Skye." She looked up at the sound of her name, into May's deep brown eyes, and May held out her hand as if asking for permission before placing it gently on hers. Skye's entire body tensed up – a strange, almost static-like shock passed from her skin to May's from the buildup of jittery vibrations dancing at her skin. But May gently rubbed her thumb across Skye's raw knuckles, taking deep breaths that Skye found herself matching.

(And Skye had to admit, latching onto May's calming vibrations was almost sort of starting to help her steady her own.)

"We are not going to let anything happen to you," May told her firmly. "Ever."

(And something about May made her almost want to believe it-)

As Skye's body untensed, a wave of exhaustion hit her again. May let go of her hand; Skye hated that she _missed_ the contact, because May's vibrations were so incredibly soothing that for the first time in probably years it made her feel a little bit okay, and she was just _so tired_ of feeling not okay-

"You need to rest," May told her. "I know you don't want to, and I know it's hard, but you need to sleep." She inched away a little bit, patting the space left beside her. "Lay down."

Skye bit the inside of her cheek but did as she was told; she moved over, then curled up into a ball on her side.

"Can I touch you?" May asked gently. A shudder ran down Skye's spine, but a tiny piece of her craved to feel May's soothing vibrations again.

And despite her better judgement, she gave a little nod, tracing her finger along the edge of the mattress.

May's fingertips grazed against her scalp as she started softly running her fingers through Skye's hair. Almost instantly, her nerves seemed to melt away, thawed by the rhythmic motion and May's steady frequency. Once she'd released the tension she'd been holding, an ache settled deep in her bones, and whether it came from her healing body or her own anxious vibrations or a mixture of both was uncertain; but all she knew was it would feel so nice to finally rest.

"Take some deep breaths," May murmured, and Skye complied, breathing in deeply and letting it out slowly in time with each stroke of May's hand through her hair. "Focus on nothing but the sound of my voice. Your name is Skye. You are on a plane with a SHIELD team – there are five other people on this plane with you, including myself."

Unconsciously, a few tears rolled down her face – she wasn't quite certain why, but she couldn't make them stop, either.

"We are currently flying over Wisconsin: local time is 8:41 pm. You are lying on a mattress in a room composed of vibranium. My name is Melinda May, and I'm by your side."

Her cheeks were soaked with an endless stream of tears, but she hadn't felt so at peace in what felt like a lifetime. Unable to fight her heavy eyelids any longer, she closed her eyes, letting herself succumb to her own exhaustion and melting into the woman's touch.

She was now fully at the mercy of Melinda May – but somehow, despite this knowledge, she wasn't afraid.

She was… calm.

"You were injured pretty badly, but you're healing very quickly. You're okay, you're safe."

Maybe she could believe that.

 _Maybe she's telling the truth_ , she thought as May's gentle touch began to lull her to sleep.

_I'm okay... I'm safe..._

_...Maybe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: February 8th


	8. Shifting Tides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick little housekeeping thing! This fic stays true to the general timeline of AoS - so all events take place around 2013-2014 and follows the natural progression in the series. HOWEVER, I (like many others) have aged down Skye and Fitz-Simmons by a couple years because I literally thought they were both in their very early twenties when I first watched the series (I mean come on, the baby faces!) 
> 
> Anyway, happy (early) Valentine's Day, I love each and every one of you, you're all wonderful and I'm glad you guys all exist <3

May left Skye at around 3 am when she was certain the brunette was soundly asleep.

It had been admittedly hard to leave her. Skye was so incredibly afraid of them all, it was heartbreaking. May had been checking up on the feed from the Cage practically the entire day – though she'd never admit it to Coulson – and Skye's visible anxiety had only increased. She looked _exhausted_ ; May couldn't even begin to imagine when the last time she'd gotten a good night's rest had been.

That's why, when she had checked up on her last night, she wasn't surprised when Skye had started crying.

May could tell just by looking at her that she was used to physical contact being a _bad_ thing, a painful experience, a punishment. So being totally relaxed, letting herself succumb to her exhaustion, and finally feeling a gentle touch for the first time in who knows how long, must have been incredibly cathartic for Skye. May had been more than happy to give her that experience and to help her finally breathe again.

Once she'd calmed Skye down enough to start lulling her to sleep, however, she'd noticed a light, rumbling murmur breaking the silence – and very quickly discovered Skye to be the source.

It resembled… purring.

May figured the gentle buzzing was a result of excess vibrations, or maybe it was similar to how a cat purrs when content – after all, from the way things started to shake whenever Skye was anxious, it seemed like her powers were definitely linked with her emotion. Either way, May was _very_ amused by this little quirk she'd discovered.

It was, quite frankly, adorable.

She also took it as a sign that Skye had finally fallen into a deep sleep. Slowly and quietly, so not to disturb her, she pulled away and left the room, leaving the door open as an invitation should Skye take it when she woke up.

On her way back to her bunk, she passed the lounge, where Fitz still sat at the table, tinkering away at what looked like some scraps. She sighed, glancing over at him. "You should be asleep," she chastised, her voice thick with exhaustion.

Not looking up, Fitz murmured; "I will soon."

Her eyes swept over the sight once more before she turned towards the door. But curiosity got the better of her, and she asked; "What are you working on?"

Again, keeping his attention transfixed on his project, he told her noncommittally; "Something for Skye."

May pressed her lips together. A flicker of warmth surged in her chest at the sentiment before she promptly squashed it back down. The team was getting too attached to Skye, herself included. There was no guarantee that Skye would stay if given the chance to leave, which they ethically had to do.

Fitz absently grabbed his water bottle and without looking away from his project, took a sip. "That's… nice of you," May murmured. Then, using a more authoritative tone, she told him; "Bed by 4 the _latest_. We need you sharp."

Fitz nodded absently. "Mhmm…"

Knowing full well that Fitz would most likely be up all night and that any attempt to persuade him otherwise would be fruitless, May headed to her bunk.

Her hour of sleep was fairly restless, and she was grateful for Tai Chi in the morning to help clear her head. She was also somewhat relieved to see that the kitchen was empty when she'd finished up – maybe Fitz _had_ gone to bed after all. Not to mention that she was able to get at least a few moments of peace and quiet to enjoy her tea before everyone woke up.

Which, unfortunately, didn't last long – but it never truly did on the Bus.

(This wasn't always a bad thing – maybe deep down May sort of enjoyed the company... sometimes.)

"Morning May," Coulson greeted her, crossing over to the coffeemaker to brew a cup of coffee. May nodded in response, bobbing her teabag in the hot water to help the tea steep. "How'd you sleep?"

"Fine," May responded, shifting her gaze in his direction. "You?"

"I slept okay," Coulson told her.

(The bags under his eyes said otherwise but May knew better than to argue – after all, it's not like she hadn't lied to him recently as well. She didn't like keeping secrets, but it was necessary – and it would be hypocritical of her to point out his.)

(But even still, she could tell there was a silent wall between them now, and her skin prickled uncomfortably at the thought of the subsequent fallout that would occur when that wall finally did crumble down and reveal all that she'd hidden from him.)

Coulson pulled a piece of bread out of the loaf and popped it into the toaster. May dropped her gaze back down to her mug, bringing it up to her lips to take a sip.

"You did good with her last night."

Coulson kept his eyes on the toaster, only turning his head slightly in May's direction as he addressed her.

May paused mid-sip, batting a glance in his general vicinity before closing her eyes and swallowing, setting the mug back down. Tracing the lip of the mug with her fingertip, she huffed; "I needed her to calm down before she quaked the Bus apart." Then, after a beat, she swiftly added as an afterthought; "She purrs in her sleep."

"She does what?" Coulson asked, turning to face her. May looked up. His eyes held a glimmer of interest, and his lips curved in a humored grin. "She _purrs_?"

A wobbly smile grew on May's face for just a moment before she quickly turned her attention back down to her tea, giving a curt nod to confirm.

Coulson looked like he had a million questions on the tip of his tongue about last night, so instead May was quick to steer the conversation in a different direction. "We really need to start figuring out where she came from," she cinched, darting her gaze back up to Coulson as he started moving everything around in the cabinet. "The peanut butter is on the far right, behind the sunbutter and the oats."

"Thanks." He moved the oats out of the way to unveil the blue Skippy jar. May pursed her lips as he shut the cabinet without putting anything back – everything was out of place now, and Simmons was certainly going to have something to say about that. She made a mental note to rearrange everything back to the way it was supposed to be when Coulson was done. "You're right though. Knowing where she came from or anything about her past can help us protect her the best we can."

"We should have Simmons do something about that implant in her neck too," May added, steeling her voice to conceal the rush of anger that flooded her chest at the mere thought. Coulson gritted his teeth, his grip firm on the butterknife as he spread peanut butter across his toast.

"Simmons said she's got a lot of medical-related anxiety," Coulson explained. "I'm not certain she'd be okay with it." He screwed the lid back onto the jar and stuck it back up in the cabinet – May narrowed her eyes slightly as she watched him put it on the top shelf rather than the bottom. "Though, then again, next time we're up against Hy- er, Centipede, and she's on our side, I suppose it would be much safer for her."

May nodded, but kept her mouth shut. She had a few objections – as well as a few theories of her own about the possibility of Centipede being tied to Hydra – but they weren't anything she hadn't already voiced. Coulson took a bite of his toast, his brows pulled together as he considered his thoughts. After swallowing, he decided, "I'm going down in a few to bring her some food and see if she remembers anything from before. I think any lead she can give us will be valuable – we can go from there. Are you with me?"

"I'm always with you," May reminded him. "You know that."

"HQ sent us a new case," Coulson told her after a beat. "I'm briefing everyone after Simmons checks up with Skye. Agent Weaver has requested for Fitz-Simmons as consultants on an active investigation at the Academy, I figured we'd send them, Ward, and maybe Skye if she's feeling up to it, and you and I could do some digging on where she came from."

"You're sending Skye into the field?" May asked pointedly. "Is that really the best idea?"

"If she's feeling up for it," Coulson said. "Simmons keeps saying she's recovering at a remarkably swift pace, and I think being out with our team and seeing how _we_ work might help build trust. Plus, Fitz has an active theory that because she controls vibrations, she'd be able to shift states of matter, which could really come in handy with this case."

"Oh?"

"Cryogenics. There was an attempted murder on campus – someone tried to freeze a student to death. If things go south-"

"Skye could theoretically thaw someone out," May finished for him. "And you think she's ready?"

Coulson nodded. "Simmons think so, and I trust her judgement."

May frowned. "And you think that sending her on this op with _Ward_ is the best idea?"

Coulson shrugged. "He acted way out of line yesterday, and don't get me wrong, I'm _furious_ ; but if they're going to be on the same team, they need to learn to work together. My hope is Ward will be able to move past his bias, and maybe undo some of the damage he's done."

May bit her tongue, keeping her gaze set firmly on her tea. Coulson had some fair points, but again, he was banking on Skye wanting to stay and be a part of the team. Plus, the idea of letting her be alone with Ward again admittedly made her stomach clench.

Plus, if things _did_ go south, Skye still wasn't one hundred percent healed.

There were so many variables; Skye was a wildcard for a number of reasons, and while May was well versed in adapting to changes, this was a pretty major one.

But Coulson seemed pretty confident in his plan and May knew that when Coulson set his mind to something, he was going to do it. She also trusted him enough to know that he didn't make decisions like these lightly.

So, May simply swirled the tea in her mug and took another sip.

* * *

When Skye woke up the next morning, she was alone.

A little disoriented, she sat up on the mattress, shrugging off a fuzzy gray blanket she had no recollection of having before. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she stretched her arms out in front of her, letting her fingers curl one by one before twisting to crack her back all the way down.

It was then that she realized that not only was she in minimal pain, but she also felt well rested.

It was… odd. Not unsettling. But not quite… _normal_ , either.

She hadn't realized just how out of sorts her _own_ vibrations had been up until this point either. But now, sitting in the comfortable silence of the Cage, she could feel the familiar, gentle purring of vibrational energy beneath her skin, rather than the throbbing or simmering or shooting she'd been subject to for so long now.

She turned her attention towards the ground – _vibranium_ , May had called this material vibranium – and running her fingertips along the surface of the floor she marveled all over again as it bounced her vibrations right back at her.

But as her gaze swept back upwards, she froze, her shoulders tensing and her vibrations spiking to match as she realized the door was wide open.

May must have left it open when she'd left.

And not only did that fact make her uneasy… but oddly, it made her a little bit curious as well, because besides quick vibrational scans to get her bearings, she had no idea what was beyond the vibranium room.

(A gym, with punching bags they'd make her unwrapped fists hit for hours, with Centipede trainees they'd make her fight, and everything would burn and ache but they'd make her keep going, _don't ever stop until I_ -)

(The interrogation room, where she'd take one look at an innocent and slit their throat or quake their lungs until they gave them the information they were seeking, and she'd have to bite her tongue and grit her teeth and look away because those were people, they were _people with names and families and_ -)

(A lab, a pristine, white lab, with sharp tools at her stomach and her blood in jars and the sharp, pungent stench of sterilization and _what was that going into her what were they taking from her why couldn't she just_ -)

But despite the tugging she felt in her chest, the urge to see what was out there, she stayed put – after all, she hadn't been allowed to see much of the Hydra base beyond what her superiors allowed her to, and she knew that she wouldn't be allowed to wander aimlessly and find out – that choice wasn't hers.

And besides… Ward was out there somewhere.

That thought alone put to rest any peace she might have felt, as suddenly anxious little vibrations started to bubble up in her chest. He reminded her so much of her superiors – whenever she saw his face, she saw the face of the smiling superior who'd disappeared after Hong Kong. But he wasn't familiar _enough_ to where she could place exactly where she'd seen him before.

 _Best not to think too deeply about it_ , she decided. _There's no use wondering when there's no choice._

 _You are property of Hydra, you don't_ get _a choice._

(Did that still apply? Was she still property of Hydra? She sure as hell didn't feel like property of SHIELD-)

(It's not like she had a choice in the matter, but if she did, maybe she'd choose SHIELD-)

(But _you owe us your life-)_

(But she owed _SHIELD_ her life now too even if she hadn't actually _wanted_ -)

(But it didn't matter because-)

"Good morning, Skye."

Skye jumped as the voice jolted her out of her mental spiral. A few rogue vibrations escaped her grasp and skittered across the vibranium floor, before she suddenly pinpointed and recognized the frequency that had entered the room. It was a calm, friendly, always steady rhythm – if Simmons' vibrations were an inquisitive, sweet orange-y pink, Coulson's were a safe, gentle green.

Coulson glanced down at his feet, then back up at her. "That tingles," he commented with an amused smile.

Skye felt the tension release in her shoulders at the sight of him. Though part of her couldn't let go of her fear, Coulson had only proven himself to be an ally, and she couldn't help but to _maybe_ trust him.

Just how he did the day before, he squatted down about halfway towards her and slid the bowl he carried across the floor, sitting cross-legged where he was. Her eyes darted down to the bowl, then back at him, asking permission.

"Apple cinnamon oatmeal," he told her. "With sunbutter on top. We weren't certain if you had any allergies, so we thought we'd play it safe."

Tentatively, she reached for the bowl; for the first time in what felt like ages, her speedy inhuman metabolism was rearing its head.

_You didn't earn-_

She swirled the spoon around the oatmeal, half-mixing the sunbutter in, before tentatively spooning a bite. It was warm and sweet, and she was just so _hungry_ -

Coulson looked so genuinely happy at this little action that it almost negated the guilt that flared in her chest from eating something she hadn't earned.

Almost.

"I wanted to check up on you myself," he started. "And ask a few questions, if you're comfortable with answering."

Skye glanced up from her bowl of oats. So _that_ was the price. He wanted _intel_.

Shit. Her superiors would be _furious_ if she-

But what would _Coulson_ do to her if-

But she could never betray-

But-

"Hey, hey, hey, deep breaths Skye," Coulson cut in, breaking her train of thought. "Only if you're comfortable – and it's nothing bad, I promise." Her eyes widened as she realized she'd released a little quake in her sudden rush of panic – quickly she pulled the vibrations back towards her and redispersed them into the mattress. Coulson watched inquisitively. "How… how do you do that?"

She opened her mouth to respond – then quickly bit her tongue, dropping her gaze.

She couldn't forget her place. It wasn't hers to speak.

But Coulson looked a bit crestfallen at this. "I wish I knew how to make you feel comfortable speaking," he sighed. "I don't know what they did to you to silence you like this. But I don't need to know the details to understand that it must have been horrific. And I'm sorry. No one should have to go through that, and it's not your fault, and I promise you, I won't ever let anything like that happen to you again."

Unsure how to respond – or what the correct response would even _be_ – Skye continued swirling the sunbutter into her oats, avoiding eye contact entirely. But across from her she could feel Coulson's vibrations slowing down into a melancholy, almost hopeless frequency, and she looked back up warily.

And even as every instinct screamed otherwise, she spoke.

"It's… they're tied to my emotions," she rasped, her voice quiet and wispy from underuse. She winced, half expecting a shock in her neck, or for him to yell, or _something_. But Coulson instead simply raised an eyebrow, his vibrations picking back up with newfound hope and interest. She exhaled slowly, steadying her nerves. "The vibrations, I mean. I can reduce the quaking by pulling them back inward, and some surfaces can absorb them better than others." Her throat burned as she spoke, and she coughed a few times to try and clear it. Coulson watched patiently as she steadied herself again, unbothered by the way she repeatedly scanned his body language just to be sure. "Depending on what's nearby, I can sometimes pull them back and then re-release them into a surface that will absorb them and minimize the quaking."

"What if you can't do that?" Coulson asked, obviously excited that she was freely speaking but trying to not make too big a deal out of it.

Skye placed the bowl next to her and started picking at her fingernails. She opened her mouth to explain… but what was there, really, to explain? It was only natural that pulling the vibrations back into herself would have adverse effects, and telling him would only upset him – what an odd concept, this man was always so upset by her circumstances…

Noticing her hesitance to respond, Coulson dropped the topic. Instead, he asked; "How long have you had your powers?"

Skye frowned. How long had it been? How many years had she spent with Hydra? "I… have no idea," she admitted softly, her shoulders sagging as she realized just how much of her life had blurred away without her realizing.

"Did they give you your powers?" Coulson asked. When she nodded to confirm, he followed up with; "Well, do you remember how old you were or what year it was when you joined?"

Skye thought for a moment, furrowing her brow as she tried to recall. She remembered only snippets of her past – often what came to mind were elderly ladies dressed in long, black robes, and rows and rows of beds for children of all ages, as well as multiple different adult faces and homes. It was all a confusing, muddled blur, but the moment that stuck out to her the most was when she was approached by that _man_ – the one with wild, dark hair who'd called her that _name_ -

It had been the last thing she truly remembered of her old life before Hydra. But how old was she when it had happened? What year was it?

_No one will ever hurt you again-_

She gritted her teeth, forcing the man's voice out her head. Biting the inside of her cheek - and determined to recover this one simple detail of her life that eluded her - she clung to the imagery of the apartment complex and the bustling streets and followed it.

It brought her to a massive brick building with tons of teenagers in groups – there were no vibrations attached to this memory, but she could feel her own heart racing and her palms sweating as she took in all the people. A school of sorts, definitely.

Perhaps a high school.

She remembered being fairly young still when she'd been brought into Hydra, and if she could just remember…

Clinging to the memory, she forced herself to dig deeper. Musty hallways, sneakers squeaking on a gym floor, the smell of teenage hormones and overly sweet candy-scented perfume, icy cold classrooms and uncomfortable desks and markers squeaking on whiteboards-

-A short, square man writing numbers and squiggles and the occasional letter on the board, putting them in boxes and explaining it like it came _naturally_ -

-Skye's chest flared with bewilderment and anger at this memory, and she felt incredibly _stupid_ -

_-Focus, Skye-_

-And in the corner of the whiteboard-

- _God, what did it say_ -

-Mr. T… the rest was blurred, but his name started with a T-

-Freshman Algebra I-

Freshman year. It was freshman year.

"Fourteen," she said finally, and it felt _right_. "I was fourteen, it was 2007."

But Coulson's face twisted into an expression of horror and despair. "God," he whispered. "Skye… that makes you… Only twenty."

She frowned, not quite understanding what the problem was, and clamped down on a couple vibrations that started simmering up as a result of his reaction.

Coulson covered his mouth, considering it. "You were with them for _six years…_ " he murmured. "Oh my God, Skye-" She must have looked scared, because upon meeting her eye again he quickly rearranged his features into a more neutral expression. "Okay. Okay. Sorry. 2007, you go missing, is that right?"

She straightened up, and letting out a shaky exhale she nodded in response.

"We couldn't find any leads when we checked. Are there any names you might go by in a government database?"

She shrugged. It didn't matter. They wiped everything they could, anyway.

Coulson nodded in understanding. "Is there anything you remember from before? Names, places – anything helps, really."

Skye sighed softly to herself, digging through old, faded names and pulling them from the dark corners of her mind where she stored past lives. "Mary Sue Poots," she said through gritted teeth. "That's what my name was legally; they gave it to me at St. Agnes Orphanage."

Somehow, Coulson's devastation written all over his face surprised her again – and the anxious tremors bubbled up under her skin once more. "You were an _orphan_ ," he murmured. "Oh, Skye-"

She squirmed uncomfortably, gripping the edges of the mattress. His pity felt _wrong_ , and she had absolutely no idea how to respond to it, or what he was expecting of her. He was quick to wipe the expression off his face once more, offering a gentle smile instead.

"Thank you," he told her, standing up. "I told Simmons to take a look at you when you've finished your oatmeal. If you're feeling up to it– oh, how _are_ you feeling? I forgot to ask."

"Better," Skye said, and she meant it.

"No pain?"

She shook her head. Genuinely, she was feeling better than she had in probably months.

"Good." Coulson smiled. "Well, if you're feeling up to it, HQ has requested the team at one of the SHIELD Academies for an open investigation, and you're welcome to join us. I think you'd be a great addition to this op, if you would like to help."

* * *

"She was an orphan?"

Coulson nodded tersely. May frowned, crossing her arms as she took in the information.

"She gave me a legal name too – Mary Sue Poots," Coulson added. "Definitely not a name I'd want to go by either, if I'm being honest."

"So what now?" May asked. "Run another search? I can imagine that would narrow it down considerably – we'd just have to find a baby girl dropped off at St. Agnes twenty years ago, then what?"

"We follow the lead," Coulson said. "Wherever it takes us."

"And the team?"

"They'll be fine," Coulson reassured her. "Skye said she feels much better; Simmons is determining as we speak whether or not she can return to the field. I trust them, May."

"Ward?" May reminded him.

"I trust him too," Coulson said. "He's a good agent, don't forget that."

May nodded. "Of course, I just worry about-"

"Me too." Coulson sighed. "But he'll come around. I'm sure of it."

* * *

"Right then, let's go touch base with Fitz and Ward."

Skye's legs felt stiff and a little sore as she took her first few steps across the room, following Jemma to the door. After checking her wounds once more – and a lengthy discussion on galactic dark matter – Jemma had cleared her for the field. She'd been very pleased with how quickly the wounds had scabbed over, and though they certainly weren't fully healed yet – and Skye's gait was still uneven, as putting weight on her injured leg still didn't feel right – she was good enough to be up and about, so long as she was careful.

Jemma had shown her to the shower, and after a much-needed scrub, a tally mark for Ace's Aunt Mindy, and a fresh change of clothes – a pair of black jeans and a soft gray sweater from Jemma's wardrobe, and a pair of black combat boots from May – Skye was ready for action.

"You haven't met Fitz yet," Jemma was saying as she led her down a hall. Skye let her eyes wander across every surface as they walked, running her fingertips across the wall to get a feel for everything. The whole _plane_ wasn't comprised of vibranium – it appeared that trait was exclusive to the Cage. "Fitz is my best friend. We've been friends since the Academy, he's been by my side since freshman year."

They entered a room that looked like a few rooms put together – there was a kitchenette and a small table, a few couches, a tv, and some bookshelves. It sort of resembled if someone pushed together a kitchen, a dining room, and a lounge. Somehow, it felt very spacious, despite the fact that it was a multi-purpose room on a plane.

At one of the tables sat two men – one of which she instantly recognized as Ward, which sent a nervous tremble down her spine before her gaze landed on the other man, whom she'd yet to meet. By process of elimination, this man must be Fitz.

Fitz gave off somewhat unpredictable vibrations – if Skye had to describe them, she'd compare them to a sort of organized chaos, a frequency on its own specific pattern. If Jemma was that warm orange-y pink frequency, then Fitz felt like a similar-but-not-quite-the-same orange-y yellow – an inquisitive, friendly, albeit a bit haphazard vibration.

Both were a stark contrast to Ward's decidedly reddish-purple – loyal and brave and independent and _powerful_.

Ward immediately sized her up as she approached, which made her uneasy so she focused on Fitz (while making sure Ward was in her peripheral _just in case_ ). Jemma's vibrations spiked with eagerness as Fitz handed her a mug of tea. "Thanks. Fitz, this is Skye. Skye, Fitz."

"Nice to meet you," Fitz greeted her in a thick, somewhat hard to understand Scottish accent. He offered her his hand, which she unconsciously shrank away from. He retracted it somewhat awkwardly, bringing it up to scratch the back of his head.

Ward, who had been watching the whole exchange, cleared his throat. "Let's bring Skylar up to speed," he announced, and Skye suppressed a flare in her chest at his use of the wrong name. She'd give him the benefit of the doubt – it was _fine_ , it wasn't on purpose.

(But it felt like it was-)

(But maybe she shouldn't have given up her name so easily, what if they took it from her, it was all she had left-)

"It's _Skye_ , Ward," Jemma corrected him. "Just Skye."

Ward scoffed. "Right. _Skye_. A device was planted in the indoor pool's filtration system, possibly days before, as if someone was waiting for those particular cadets. It used technology that these two created to instantly freeze the pool – the cadets barely escaped before they were frozen too."

"As far as they can tell, the device uses a crystalline nucleation process she designed," Fitz supplemented, nodding over at Simmons.

"And a delivery mechanism he invented," Jemma finished, stirring some sugar into her tea. Skye cocked her head curiously, picking up on how the two of them seemed to speak as a unit – very reminiscent of what she'd witnessed with Coulson and May. She even noticed now how their vibrations seemed to synch right up into a frequency of its own pattern, like they were totally on the same wavelength. "That's why we're being asked to consult on the investigation."

"We're going to the Academy – more specifically, the Science and Technology Division," Ward finished, not looking at her as he spoke. "Cadets are pretty shaken up over what happened. Agent Weaver has asked Fitz-Simmons to speak to the student body about potentiality to calm them down."

"Right, the Talk." Jemma bobbed her pretty head. "We've all had _the Talk_."

Skye had absolutely no clue what the girl was talking about – but Jemma was brilliant as far as she was aware, so she decided to just trust her and not ask questions. Besides, with Ward here, she was pretty certain keeping her mouth shut was the way to go.

"You're coming along because Coulson wants to see how you'd do with our team," Fitz explained. "Plus, with your powers you could potentially negate any cryogenic threats we face – states of matter are determined by the frequency of molecular vibrations, and theoretically you'd be able to change phases of matter of an object by honing in on those frequencies."

Skye pondered for a moment. She'd never tried that before. Her superiors had never posed that as an option - much like how they'd never taught her how to crush a heart the way Raina had told her to, something she was still disgusted she could do. But Fitz was right – theoretically, that sounded like something she _should_ be able to do.

A part of her was almost excited for the chance to try, but she also sort of hoped she wouldn't have to.

The three agents bantered for a few minutes over the superiority between Academy divisions – Skye instantly picked up that there was some sort of rivalry between Sci-Tech and Operations, and that the only one that really interacted with the others was Communications. Briefly she wondered which Academy she would have attended had she been given the chance; then she wondered if she would have even considered it a path for her to follow at all.

Maybe Communications, actually. She wasn't certain why, but it felt right to her.

As they started their descent, Simmons leaned over to her. "I know you were reluctant to give us your name," she murmured. "You can go by an alias if you would prefer."

Skye flashed her a grateful smile. She'd purposely sat next to the pretty British scientist – she knew her the best and trusted her the most. Ward glanced over, his jaw set. "You'll have to blend in," he told her. "Don't use your powers unless completely necessary and try to act _normal_ for once. No flinching, speak when spoken to, just… act like a normal person."

"Ward," Jemma scolded, turning back to Skye. "He does have a point though, somewhere buried underneath all that snark. No one knows who you are, and it would look bad for us to have someone from an opposing force on our team - er, no offense. But if it gets to be too much, let one of us know and we'll be more than happy to accommodate you."

Skye chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. She appreciated Jemma's kindness, but she wasn't certain she wanted to be " _accommodated_." It sounded either painful or like another one of their weird pity-things, and neither sounded pleasant to her at all.

She resolved to just do her job, no questions asked, just like normal.

The Sci-Tech Academy was _gorgeous_ , and nothing like she could recall ever seeing. Sleek, modern buildings perched atop impossibly lush green grass, and bustling with intelligent looking young adults strolling up and down stairs, books in hand. Golden afternoon sunlight beamed down from the sky, bathing the silver buildings and causing them to practically glow.

"Science and Technology what you imagined, Agent Ward?" Fitz asked, his face pulled into a smug grin.

"Yep," Ward said. "No uniforms, no rope course, no defined muscularity on anyone-"

"No marching in place, no IQs in double digits," Fitz snarked back. Jemma practically snorted next to her, and Skye had to suppress a chuckle that rose in the back of her throat.

"There they are, so good to see you."

A new voice broke Skye out of her thoughts – an official-looking woman approached, greeting Fitz-Simmons like old friends.

"You look lovely as ever," Simmons greeted her warmly, shaking her hand.

"I concur," Fitz added.

"Thank you." The woman smiled at the two before turning her attention the Ward and sticking out her hand for him to shake. "Agent Ward, a pleasure to have you sir."

Ward sounded much more professional and friendly than Skye had ever heard him, although he was still succinct as he greeted her. "Agent Weaver. There's a list of suspects?"

"Based on the level of intelligence it would take to put a device together like the one we found, we've narrowed it down to the top ten percent of our cadets. I'm worried there's a bad seed."

Ward leaned over to Skye, and in an almost condescending tone he explained; "Ops and Sciences have differences, but both have to be careful of what we call 'bad seeds' – people who want to use the tools we give them for their own personal gain, no matter the ethical cost."

Skye bit her tongue – she knew what a bad seed was, hell, she vaguely remembered being called one in a life before Hydra, but listening to him mansplain it was probably the safer option.

Agent Weaver glanced over her in a scrutinizing, almost expectant manner. Skye suppressed a flutter in her chest and stuck out her hand, deciding on the spot that she was _not_ about to let this woman have her name. "Stella Armstrong," she rushed out, grateful that her voice managed to stay steady. If Agent Weaver was dubious, she didn't show it, instead taking her hand and giving it a firm handshake.

"You must be Coulson's new cyber consultant," Weaver decided for her, her lips curved downward. Well, at least now she didn't have to think of a cover story on the spot too. "I was wondering if he'd find someone else to fill Agent Kalmowitz's role."

Skye let go of her hand just as a few nervous vibrations made their way to her fingertips. Ward shot her a pointed look as he expressed; "Yes, it was a difficult process to find someone – his passing was so unexpected and so horrible that we almost couldn't bear to fill the position that was so rightfully his."

Sucking in a deep breath, Skye forced herself to look Weaver in the eye – her stomach flipped, but she knew this was something she had to do. "I am so sorry for your loss," she told her genuinely, guilt tugging at her chest relentlessly and balling up in the back of her throat, almost suffocatingly. She swallowed nervously. "I can't imagine what that must be like, losing such a brilliant agent so young. I know I can never replace him, and I would never want to, but I will do everything I can to keep his memory alive and honor him with everything I do."

She felt Jemma's vibrations shift beside her and was grateful that the Brit had given her plenty of silent notice for when she placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. The flinch was inevitable, but much less obvious than if Jemma hadn't taken her time.

"Thank you, Miss Armstrong." Weaver straightened back up, turning to Ward once more as he turned the conversation back to business.

"I know you've already questioned the victim but I have a few questions I'd like to ask him myself," Ward stated.

Weaver nodded. "I'll arrange for you to talk to Seth Dormer when he's out of class."

* * *

Though Coulson had been eager to open an investigation into Skye's past, May was discouraged to see him sitting at his desk, flipping through the files he'd requested detailing his death.

Every time he gave it his attention, it only made him frustrated – and it only made May feel worse about keeping the secret.

"I just can't get my head around it," he expressed, perplexed. "I remember what happened… the pain… But I also remember Tahiti. It's-"

"What's in the file is the truth," May cut him off.

"Says who?"

"Director Fury."

Coulson gave her an almost desperate look. "If I hadn't asked, he'd have kept it from me," he told her. "Kept me from knowing."

"And now that you know, you feel better?" May challenged. His blank expression said _no_ for him, and she told him again; "Put it away."

Dejectedly, he flipped the binder shut and sighed, placing it back into a spot on his desk.

"While you were going over those files – _again_ – I ran a quick search and found something," May began, hoping that progress on Skye's investigation would not only lift his spirits but give him something new to focus on. "It's not confirmed to be her, but twenty years ago an agent of SHIELD dropped off an unidentified baby girl at St. Agnes Orphanage. Agent Avery, now deceased. But her partner, Richard Lumley, is still alive but has been off the grid ever since."

"May-" Coulson's eyes were wide and incredulous. May couldn't help the amused, proud smirk that curled her lips as she continued – what she'd told him so far wasn't even the best part.

"A few days ago, a Mexican teenager posted a selfie on his Facebook page; managed to capture our guy leaving a grocery store in the background."

"Holy shit May, you found all of this in just ten minutes?"

May shook her head. "It's been an hour since we dropped off the team, you've been holed up in your office reviewing those files for an hour."

Coulson opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head, a wry chuckle escaping his lips. "You really _are_ the best, Melinda." He stopped, thinking for a moment. "But if he's good enough to avoid SHIELD all these years, then he'll know."

"And he'll be on the move," May finished for him. "So we have a short window to intercept."

"How long do we have until we touch down?" Coulson asked.

"Forty minutes," May told him, turning towards the door. "I'll gas the car."

* * *

With Ward off talking to the student in question – Seth Dormer – and Fitz-Simmons up front at the podium giving a speech, Skye noted that this would, theoretically, be the perfect time to run away and never turn back.

Nevertheless, she sat in one of the auditorium seats towards the back corner – with the rest of the student body in her direct line of sight – and watched with slight interest as the scientists spoke about the consequences of technology falling into the wrong hands, drawing on personal experiences that they've had in the field. It occurred to her that they could use _her_ as an example – after all, she could _technically_ be considered untested technology in the wrong hands – but then that led her mind down a rabbit hole of her own humanity, which Hydra had always insisted she had none, and she swiftly decided to simply focus on the way Jemma spoke rather than what they were saying to quell the nerves that bubbled up as a result.

It also occurred to her that this operation felt incredibly odd – she was used to her presence being a threat, to Hydra bringing her so she could tear down buildings or keep people in line. But here, she felt like she was just tagging along, and Fitz-Simmons spoke to her like she was a friend or a teammate rather than a sentient weapon.

Perhaps she was getting too comfortable with this team, she decided.

As the lecture continued, she found herself losing interest fairly quickly, and instead starting to hone in on all the vibrations in the room. Up front, Fitz-Simmons' vibrations were synched and tamed down into a very professional, authoritative frequency, matched by their tones of voice and put-together body language. The student body, instead, had a very chaotic frequency, all the vibrations meshing together excitedly but with a strange, almost combed-down effect – like they were trying so hard to tone down their eagerness to appear more mature and professional, as she would imagine students often would do in the presence of their role models. 

Somewhere underneath all of that was a distinctly different frequency all on its own – a vibration that she didn't recognize as _remotely_ organic, and that very fact was starting to put her on edge.

There was something in the hall that wasn't supposed to be there, and whatever it was, it was getting stronger.

As she started trying to tap into the vibrations to pinpoint it, one of the cadets started shouting.

And just as chaos started to erupt within the hall, the cadet's body was encased in thick ice, and he was frozen solid.

Fitz-Simmons raced towards the cadet and the professors started ushering the other students away to give them space. As Skye started pushing her way down to them, she heard Jemma shout over the chaos about glucose and lowering the body's freezing point.

"Simmons, I need something to break the ice," Fitz was saying as Skye finally reached them. He cracked some of the thinner ice by the cadet's neck and jabbed a needle into the exposed skin. "Skye, something's doing this, you need to find it!"

She suppressed a flinch at his urgent tone and whirled around, scanning the floor for those odd vibrations. Locating it just as Ward approached, she called; "It's over here, what do you want me to-"

" _Smash the damn thing_!" Fitz snapped. Quelling the anxiety that prickled her skin, she glanced around swiftly before kneeling down and tapping into the device's frequencies, clenching her hand into a fist the way she'd done with that woman's heart, and effectively crushing the machine, shutting it down.

And while the ice started to crack across the cadet's body, it wasn't enough to shake him free.

"Skye, can you thaw it off of him?" Jemma asked, her usually gentle tone swifter and more urgent. Skye froze – she'd never done that before, and she really didn't want to risk hurting the student further-

"Skye, can you or can you not get him free?" Ward growled as he directed a student towards the door.

"Bloody hell," Fitz muttered, and without warning he grabbed Skye by the arm and pulled her towards the frozen cadet. The sudden contact sent panic shooting throughout Skye's entire body, and it took everything in her to not freeze up or cry out. "Focus on the vibrations and _thaw him out_ before he _dies_!"

Her breath caught in her throat, and vaguely in the background she heard Ward murmur something about covering for her. Fitz's grip on her arm was still tight, but she steeled her nerves and took a deep breath, closing her eyes to hone in on the ice. Stretching her hands out, she felt for the slow-moving particles of the ice and directed her own vibrational energy into it, speeding the overall frequency and causing friction among the particles.

It didn't take much else to warm him enough to thaw him out.

Letting out a shaky exhale, Skye took a few steps back as everyone rushed forward again. The cadet fell to the ground, gasping for breath as Fitz-Simmons bent down to reassure him that he was okay. Ward eyed her with what could almost read as slight admiration and he offered a curt nod and a brief "good work," but Skye merely stumbled back to the corner of the auditorium, her heart racing in her chest and her head spinning at the overstimulation.

The rest of the mission was an absolute blur – she wasn't called upon to use her powers or quake anything or hurt anyone, so she spent it making sure her own vibrations were in check and, unconsciously, flinching away from Fitz-Simmons and Ward every time they came near her.

The cadet's name was Donnie Gill, a socially anxious yet brilliant student, and when Fitz went to talk to him friend-to-friend, Jemma and Ward settled on going down to the boiler room to see if they could gather any more information that might be useful for the case. Jemma gingerly offered to sit it out with Skye, pointing out that a busy party scene might not be the best place for her but also not wanting her to be alone. Skye declined, and was grateful that she did, welcoming the silence and stillness that taking a break by the staircase offere while students partied and got drunk on the other side of the wall.

Her solitude was short lived, though, as suddenly they were on their way to Donnie Gill's dorm room in a hurry, Fitz was unconscious on the ground, and they were calling May and Coulson for backup.

And before Skye knew it, they were back on the Bus regrouping.

(And it was quite admirable, and fairly reassuring, to hear Fitz describing Donnie Gill as a good kid who had been simply misled, even though he was one of the perpetrators. Once again, this team proved different from Hydra in the sense that they didn't see the world in such black and white – those who deserved to die and those who served the "right" cause.)

Coulson and May were noticeably off when they'd regrouped though, Skye noticed. May hid it well, but Coulson was struggling to look directly at her, and Skye wondered what she'd done wrong. Even if it wasn't logical, a part of her wondered if they knew that she'd used her powers at the Academy or lied to a high-ranking agent, and if she'd be punished for it later.

The thought sent worried vibrations skittering up and down her spine – but she knew better than to let her anxiety eat away at her, so for now she settled on laying low, and when something happened, she'd deal with it then.

After all, the last time she let her nerves eat her alive, she ended up medically unconscious and with tubes in her palms for a few days.

As a massive storm started breaking on the horizon, all they could really do was watch while May attempted to fly the plane directly into it. Fitz-Simmons hypothesized that the storm was caused by Gill's device, which was most likely located right in the eye of the storm with him and Dormer. Skye hung back, her arms crossed protectively over her chest, as Fitz-Simmons monitored the radar and Ward reported from the Academy, where he had been ushering the students to safety.

The plane descended upon the scene, where Gill was shaken and Dormer was unconscious. Skye kept her distance from the whirlwind of action, not too keen on getting in the way. And while Jemma did her best to save his life, Dormer was gone.

Jemma, Fitz, and Gill were absolutely riddled with guilt-laden vibrations that nearly made Skye stumble back at their intensity. She wanted to help - she wanted to comfort Jemma, who had wanted so desperately to save Dormer, or even to connect with Gill, who felt as though Dormer's death was on his hands. She understood that feeling far too well. But instead she stayed away, nervously picking at her fingernails and watching like a fly on the wall. 

Skye caught one last glance at Donnie Gill before he was driven away, but she felt his vibrations rattling deep within her bones long after he was gone.

Exhausted – and somehow both overstimulated _and_ numb – Skye graciously made her way back to the sanctuary of the Cage, where she stayed curled up on her mattress for a while, ruminating in her thoughts. The way this team operated was vastly different from Hydra. They'd had each other's backs and did everything they possibly could to try and find a solution that didn't cost innocent lives. Skye respected that greatly.

But the way Coulson and May acted when they got back from the Academy didn't sit right with her at _all_ – she'd unconsciously gnawed the skin off from around her fingernails in her panic. Those two were the "superiors" of this team - were they called that here? - and they were the ones who'd shown her mercy. If she did something wrong to jeopardize that, she feared the absolute worst.

"Uh… hey."

The voice jolted Skye out of her thoughts. She had felt the man's rumbling vibrations hanging outside the door for a few minutes now, as if he had been hesitating – they rolled off him nervously, as if he was working up the courage to enter.

Now, Fitz stood in the doorway, holding some sort of peculiar looking dome-shaped object. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, offering a wobbly smile that Skye couldn't bring herself to return.

She was still turning over their interactions at the Academy in her head – and still suppressing panic over Coulson and May's sudden shift in attitude towards her.

"I, um, I know we didn't really start off on the right foot," Fitz admitted, taking a few steps towards her. Skye's muscles tensed, and she stared unblinkingly at him, watching his every move. "I'm sorry for snapping at the Academy earlier today, and for grabbing your arm. I know you don't like that, and I didn't mean anything malicious – I was just reacting in the moment. But I know I scared you, and I don't want you to be afraid of me. I just want to be your friend."

_Friend._

Fitz came a little bit closer. Skye eyed him curiously, intrigued by his apology but still wary of the thing he'd brought. He crouched down, crossing his legs and sitting a couple feet away, respectful of her space – something she'd noticed almost everyone on the team did, at least at first, when approaching her. She couldn't ignore that; the distance they'd offered and the way they moved slowly around her, making sure she was fully aware of every movement.

It made her feel like maybe she could trust them.

"I've been working on something." Fitz set the dome in front of him, and Skye unconsciously shrank back. "Jemma told me you like the stars. And we've been working on fixing up a bunk for you – well, me and Jemma have – but until then unfortunately the Cage will have to do. Anyway, I figured that while you're cooped up here, you'd want to be able to see the sky. It might make this place feel a bit more comfortable." Fitz reached forward and pressed a button on the side, and suddenly the ceiling above her illuminated in shades of blue and purple, speckled with bright lights. Skye followed the beam of light from the ceiling back down to the strange, crystal-looking object at the top, her eyes widening in awe.

Fitz's smile grew bigger as he took in her awestruck expression. "It's a projector of sorts – the technology is easy, they sell these everywhere, but I figured I could just make one out of stray parts from the lab. I programmed it to mimic the sky based on our coordinates, but there's also a setting that can switch between galaxies." He pressed another button on the side and Skye watched as the star patterns above her changed; different lines connecting different speckles to form different constellations, colors shifting from blues to greens to deep purples, planets and black holes and celestial bodies moving across the walls.

"Th-this is amazing," Skye found herself saying, her voice holding its usual unpracticed rasp. She blinked, surprised to hear her own voice. She started to bite down on her tongue, but when Fitz seemed to only smile wider, she let her shoulders relax, and added a quick; "Thank you."

Fitz scratched the back of his head, chuckling to himself. "I- of course, we all just want you to feel at home." He cleared his throat, straightening up. "Right, well, we're all upstairs getting ready to watch a movie. Not sure yet which one – we were debating between Mad Max, Star Wars, or Harry Potter. I think May's making popcorn, which means there will _not_ be any snacks-" he laughed at his own joke, "-but it'll still be fun, if you want to join us."

She was almost tempted – but a shudder passed down her spine at the thought of facing Coulson and May again, and after today's excitement she wasn't sure she could handle that yet. So instead she bit the inside of her cheek and shrugged noncommittally.

Fitz looked a bit disappointed, but respectful of her decision, nonetheless. "Today was long, huh," he chuckled. "That's alright. Maybe tomorrow." He stood, backing up slowly. "Thank you for your help today. Sleep well, I'll see you later."

And with that, Skye was alone once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: February 22.


	9. Clarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack sorry I’m a little late - I was super sick yesterday (not like virus or bacterial sick, like sensitive stomach sick, this is just something that happens to me pretty often its really nbd) and got scheduled last minute to work today (and still wasn’t feeling all that great). AKA I sort of lost a majority of the past two days - which, the weekend and Monday morning are big editing days for me before I post! 
> 
> Long story short I’m _exhausted _and feel kinda crappy but wanted to get this up at least somewhat on time! Sorry this chapter is a little bit shorter - I made a last minute decision to cut it in half and make the second part one whole chapter and really dedicate time to developing it as much as possible. (You'll see why).__
> 
> __Hope you enjoy, and I love you all <3_ _

Skye didn't sleep that night.

She'd managed to keep her anxious vibrations at bay (for the most part) but she couldn't bring herself to relax enough to sleep. Thoughts of her superior tight-lipped with clenched fists dominated her mind; memories from the Academy earlier that day turned over in her head, picked apart and mulled over as she analyzed every little thing she did, trying to figure out exactly what had upset Coulson and May.

And when she was certain that any longer she spent on that train of thought would make her lose control of the quakes bubbling under her skin, Skye spent the rest of the night curled up with her back against the wall with the door in her line of sight. Projections of purple, blue, and yellow swirled around on the ceiling, stars branching out in spirals and sweeping across the vibranium walls; she let herself get lost in the colors, allowed her heart rate slow down to match the tempo of the glimmering stars, soothing her mind at least for a few hours.

The door had been left wide open again – an olive branch, an invitation to be a part of the group.

(Skye mostly just appreciated that she could now _see_ a threat coming rather than just _sense_ one – maybe this _was_ a team of allies, it sure seemed to be, but one could never be too sure.)

As usual, Jemma was timely with her daily check-in. Her vibrations, while still a tad muted from yesterday's devastation, seemed to perk right up when she entered the room. While Skye had been cleared yesterday, Jemma just wanted to be extra sure that her wounds were healed up fully, which, if Skye was being honest, she didn't mind too much – Jemma's presence was one of her favorites on the plane, second only to May.

Jemma spoke about the Big Bang and the creation of the universe and her hazel eyes sparkled with stars of their own as she described the event and her touch was gentle and sweet; Skye still flinched a little still, but not as much. After all, she was certain that there was no universe in which the young scientist would ever hurt anything or anyone.

(And Jemma smelled of cherry blossoms and jasmine as she leaned close to inspect the scabs and _why was Skye's heart rate speeding up why could she feel the blood rushing to her ears_ -)

At one point Jemma's eyes skated over the neat, white lines on Skye's arm (something Skye noticed she often did, and when this happened her eyes would pool momentarily with a type of mournful pity before she quickly masked it away again) but today they landed on the new one, the one Skye had added in honor of Ace's aunt.

Her vibrations spiked with surprise, and then quickly morphed into confusion and sadness. She swiftly glanced up at Skye, the question on her tongue, but seemingly decided against asking, her voice holding the slightest tremor as she switched gears and described how scientists can see the echo of universe expansion through a phenomenon known as the _cosmic microwave background_.

(Relief flooded through Skye. She wasn't sure how she would even begin to explain herself to Jemma, and she couldn't bear the idea of making her sad – though that was inevitable, it seemed.)

"Would you like to join us upstairs for breakfast?" Jemma had asked her in that sweet, honeycomb voice when she'd finished up. "Coulson made scrambled eggs and toast, but we could fix you whatever you're in the mood for."

Skye considered for a moment. Admittedly, part of her really wanted to. She'd realized that she was starting to grow attached to this team. The way Fitz and Jemma treated her was almost like a _friend_ and though Ward still scared the absolute shit out of her, he hadn't given her any passive-aggressive treatment since the Academy.

But the thought of going upstairs and being with Coulson and May, basically handing them the opportunity to lash out at her, made her bite her tongue and shake her head in response.

The disappointment on Jemma's face was almost soul-crushing.

"Oh." She quickly righted herself, offering a reassuring smile. "That's alright. Maybe later, or tomorrow. I'll send Coulson down with some breakfast in a bit."

(Of course. Skye should have realized that the other option was to be alone in a room with the man who was seemingly pissed at her.)

Jemma still looked a bit crestfallen as she stood, turning to leave, and Skye sort of resented the tugging at her conscience for upsetting her. She thought that maybe she _did_ want to be with the team, a little bit at least – up until returning from the Academy (and the incident with Ward) this team had proven to be friendly and genuinely seemed to _want_ her to feel comfortable and cared for and it was sweet, really it was. She just wasn't certain she could let go of what had been proven to be the truth in the past.

Nonetheless, Skye took a deep breath, and quietly she managed to muster a, "thank you. For everything."

Jemma turned, her eyes lighting up once more. "Of course, Skye. That's what friends are for."

There it was again.

_Friend._

Something light stirred in Skye's chest, and unconsciously she found herself returning Jemma's smile as she left the room.

Not long after, Coulson came downstairs, a plate of food in hand. Like always, he sat down halfway across the room and slid the plate over to the mattress, but today he kept his eyes down at the plate rather than on her. "Eggs, maple sausage, and toast," he told her. "And some ketchup if you want it."

A nervous tremble wriggled its way to the surface. He wouldn't look directly at her, and his voice sounded worlds away as he spoke to her. He crossed his legs, keeping his eyes directed either past her or on the ground, but made it clear that like usual, he'd stay to make sure she at least ate _something_.

And though her stomach twisted with nausea and the little voice in her mind snickered that she'd done something wrong and she hadn't earned her food, she managed to nibble on some toast at the very least before placing it aside, hoping it would be enough to please him.

But instead, he raised an eyebrow. "Not hungry?"

She shrugged stiffly, dropping her gaze and tapping her fingertips on her knees, trying to resist the urge to pick at them or bite them.

He didn't push it, instead standing up. "I'll leave it down here with you, just in case you change your mind," he decided as he turned towards the door.

But Skye looked up sharply, her breath catching in her throat. He hadn't done _anything_ – there was no explanation as to why things felt so tense between them now, or what she had done wrong, or how she'd be punished for whatever it was. Her superior had only let it hang in the air for a day before lashing out at her. She wasn't sure she could take the suspense any longer.

And as her heart started _thudding_ loudly in her chest, she didn't even think as she opened her mouth to speak.

"Coulson-"

He stopped, tilting his head slightly in her direction to signify that he was listening.

Skye almost immediately dropped her gaze again, absently picking at the raw scabs on around her nailbeds, resisting the urge to bite them. "I- You won't-" She stopped, the words balling up and sticking in the back of her throat. A shuddery breath shook its way through her lungs, and in one, rushed out sentence she blurted out, " _I don't know what I did wrong_."

Coulson turned around fully to face her, and she instantly shrank back. His brows pulled together and the corners of his mouth turned downward and it almost resembled some strange scowl, but not quite. Her chest burned and her throat dried up and her hands quivered with unsettled vibrations and her head seemed to fill with water, sloshing around in her skull and making her head spin.

He took a few steps towards her; the ground suddenly trembled beneath them as a quake suddenly slipped from her grasp. "Skye," he murmured. "Skye, you did nothing wrong. Please, breathe Skye. I promise, you're okay."

She hadn't realized she had started wheezing.

Coulson took a few steps towards her, and instantly her breath hitched and she pushed herself back against the wall. He stopped dead in his tracks, holding his palms out as a sign of peace. "Okay, backing up," he told her. "I'm backing up. I'm not going to hurt you – I would _never_ want to hurt you. Look, there isn't even any way I _could_ theoretically hurt you. See? I'm unarmed, and I'm too far away from you to do anything."

Slight relief flickered in her chest as she quickly assessed his threat level and realized that he was, in fact, telling the truth. Skye's heart was still racing but she managed to suck in a deep breath through her nose and let it out through her mouth slowly. An overabundance of nervous vibrations had built up inside of her, so she dispersed what she could into the soft, cushiony mattress, and then directed the rest of them back in on herself, wincing at the stress on her bones. She was sure underneath the sleeves of her hoodie, nasty-looking bruises were bubbling up on her skin.

"Okay." Coulson slowly crouched down where he was, sitting cross-legged on the other end of the room. "Okay. You're overwhelmed. What's going on? Talk to me, Skye – if you're comfortable, of course."

Skye sniffled – she hadn't realized she had been sort of crying either? – and unconsciously brought her thumb up to her mouth, pulling at one of the scabs with her teeth.

Coulson sat patiently, watching.

Summoning every ounce of strength she could muster, she batted her gaze back up to him, and in a small voice she admitted; "You won't look at me. Or talk to me. Not the same anyway. Not since the Academy."

"Oh."

She ducked her head, bracing herself for the blow.

And in her mind, Coulson stood up and stormed over to her, his vibrations angry and hot and coming at her in furious jabs that made her flinch away. In her mind he told her she was bad, that she was property and she wasn't good enough, that she was disrespectful and a pain in the ass.

In her mind, his fists connected with her face, she recoiled backwards, he wiped blood off his knuckles and spat on her. He told her to get up, that she deserved it, that she was lucky he didn't do worse.

Then he laughed and did it again.

But that wasn't what actually happened.

Coulson drew his own shuddery breath, and in an equally small voice he said to her; "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

She looked up sharply.

"I've been… trying to figure out where you came from," Coulson admitted. "We thought it might help with your memories, and that knowing your background would help us help you more effectively. I didn't mean to make you feel this way at _all_. We just – May and I, that is – we found some things, and it's been… hard to digest. And we originally had thought it would be better if it was left unsaid, but the more I've been thinking about it the guiltier I feel keeping it from you. You have every right to know, Skye."

Skye's breath caught in her throat.

A strange feeling tugged in her chest, almost a longing or a wariness, or a mixture of both. Her life before Hydra was a blur, something she'd boxed away, locked up and thrown out the key. There was no use dwelling on the past, and hell, it wasn't like she remembered it in its entirety anyway – maybe that was her own repression, or maybe that was Hydra's conditioning, it was hard to say.

But she knew that her childhood wasn't normal – it wasn't the picture perfect nuclear American family for sure, it wasn't stable, it wasn't happy.

And she knew this. And maybe that was why she'd locked it away.

(And maybe it's because _she'd_ traded that life away, and because she knew if she'd been given the chance she would have traded back, but _she_ dug her grave and now _she_ had to lie in it.)

Coulson studied her face hesitantly, as if trying to gauge her response. This was the point in a conversation where she'd be expected to speak, she realized, and she coughed a little to try and get her voice unstuck. But the words were jumbled up and she couldn't quite pick out the right ones to express what she was feeling. "I- I don't know what to say, I…" she trailed off, searching Coulson's face to try and find the correct answer.

Perhaps, like every conversation she seemed to have with him, there simply wasn't one.

"What do you remember of your childhood?" Coulson asked her gently. "I can imagine it was tumultuous, as an orphan."

She nodded in response – she remembered St. Agnes Orphanage, the stained-glass windows and the way they painted colorful geometric shapes across the hallway floors; the rows of beds, each with the same ratty pillow and drab, gray quilt; the nuns wearing their habits and carrying silver crosses and telling the other kids to be good children of God and to say their prayers and that God had a plan for all of them.

(But _Mary Sue Poots, you've got the devil in you-_ )

And she remembered countless adult faces and numerous rooms and surroundings, though nothing specific. She remembered the longing and the pain and the good and the bad – that sometimes she had hoped to stay and sometimes she was grateful to leave. But it was all a blur, truly.

( _Bad, broken, not a good fit-_ )

Coulson's face was still knitted into that expression – but Skye determined it was less of a scowl and just another one of those pity faces he made, melancholic and concerned and regretful. "Do you want to know how you ended up in the system?" he asked her gently.

Without really thinking about it, she nodded. Part of her didn't want to know – part of her knew that it would only make her angry at her situation, that maybe if there was a possibility of not being in the system, she would never have made it to this point. That maybe she could have had a chance, and maybe she wouldn't have been so stupid.

( _After all, this whole thing was her fault_ -)

But what Coulson was offering was information about _her_. He was offering her a chance to take back a portion of her own life, something that should rightfully be _hers_.

And there was no way she was passing that up.

Coulson shifted a little, taking a deep breath. "Okay," he said gently. "I'm just warning you… you might not like what you hear."

Skye shrugged. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't exhausted every intrusive thought about her origins. The truth couldn't be worse than what she'd imagined.

"Okay." Coulson sighed. Skye winced – usually a sigh meant exasperation or anger, but in this case she told herself he was bracing himself, logically that would make more sense. Coulson pondered for a moment, seemingly searching for the right words, before starting – his tone was somber as he spoke, his features tugged into a grim expression. "From the information you gave me – your legal name and the name of the orphanage you grew up in, we were able to trace back to the person who dropped you off there – she happened a SHIELD agent, Agent Linda Avery, now deceased. She was killed just a couple of days after dropping you off, and her partner, Agent Richard Lumley, went off the grid just a day later. May and I tracked him down to see if he had any insight."

Skye nodded tensely, hanging onto every word. A pit of apprehension was starting to form in her stomach.

"And this is what he told us." Coulson swallowed. "Twenty years ago, a senior SHIELD agent called in an 0-8-4 out of a village in the Hunan province in China. The entire village of about one-hundred people had been massacred trying to protect it. Avery and Lumley were fresh from the Academy, on a team with three other agents running back-end until they lost communication with the first team – then they went in."

The dread clawed its way to her throat.

"They found the senior agent dead underneath a bridge. He'd bled out from a gunshot wound to the neck, still holding onto the 0-8-4 – a _baby girl_ , barely a few months old. She was covered in blood, and they thought she was dead, but she was sleeping in the dead agent's arms. It was unclear who was the monster that had been pursuing the baby, or if the baby had powers or something that made her special or desirable to the monster."

The baby.

That was _her_.

She was a SHIELD 0-8-4.

Skye's vision clouded over; Coulson in her sight became a blurry, watery image. She had no idea how to even react to any of this information. How _could_ she, knowing that her entire life, she has left behind nothing but pain and suffering and destruction and _death_? That not only was she responsible directly for what could very well possibly be taking hundreds of lives – marked and unmarked, those who died at her hands, whose eyes burned into her soul every single day, and those buried in her wake, who'd died anonymously and unceremoniously – but she was also responsible for an entire village's brutal slaughter? An entire village, hellbent on protecting her from a monster hunting her down, because _they_ believed she was special.

(And look at what she'd done with the life they'd allowed her to have.)

Coulson let those words hang in the air for a beat, carefully considering Skye's reaction. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her vision. Tears rolled down her cheeks, her hands shaking uncontrollably in her lap as the gravity of the situation settled in. Deep in her core, a powerful quake writhed furiously, begging her to be let out; she shook her head, closing her eyes to tame the beast once more.

"There's more," she prompted in a shaky breath, digging her nails in her palms in an attempt to quell the tremors.

Coulson nodded, concern reflecting across his features as he regarded her. "There's more," he confirmed carefully. "Are you…"

"I _need_ to know," Skye whispered, her voice quivering with resolve.

Coulson let out a breath. "Lumley's team helicoptered you out of China and back to the States. SHIELD has protocols in place for dealing with 0-8-4s, but an 0-8-4 is, by definition, an _object_ of unknown origin. SHIELD had never experienced a _human_ 0-8-4, let alone a _baby_. But within the next week, agents from that team were brutally crossed off one by one, and it was clear the monster was using SHIELD to try and find you. That's how you ended up in the foster system – Agent Avery faked the credentials of the deceased lead agent and delivered you to the orphanage herself, setting up an invisible protocol to make sure you never stayed in the same place for too long to ensure your safety. Not even 24 hours had passed, and she'd been slaughtered, leaving Lumley as the sole survivor."

Silence hung in the air. Skye truly didn't know what to say, or even what to think. It was a lot to process at once, so much new and absolutely horrible information. Her chest tightened up and all she wanted to do was sob, but the tears that pricked in her eyes stung and burned with fury. She bit the inside of her cheek, digging her nails into her palms in a desperate attempt to silence the emotional turmoil convulsing under her skin – especially now, knowing that she was responsible for twice the amount of death she originally thought, she _refused_ to add any more to that toll.

She never really had a chance to begin with. There were no outcomes to this story that would have led her to that picture-perfect family she'd always longed for but never deserved.

She was an 0-8-4. An official SHIELD object of unknown origin. An entire town had been massacred trying to protect her from a monster – whom she could only assume was the very same monster she'd traded her life to, the one who called her _his Daisy_ , who'd promised her that no one would ever touch her again before thrusting her into the most painful existence she could ever fathom.

And for as long as she could remember – six years, as she and Coulson had determined she'd been with Hydra – she'd been told SHIELD was the enemy, SHIELD was set to destroy the world and everyone in it, SHIELD was the reason Hydra had to make the tough call. That _monster_ , her _father_ , had said that Hydra can ensure her safety, that Hydra was all she needed to make sure that the evil organization SHIELD would never find her.

But SHIELD had been the ones trying to protect her this whole time.

"Skye…?"

Coulson's brow creased with unguarded worry – she must have had the most distraught look on her face, she figured, but it was already taking everything she had to keep the tremors at bay. She pulled her gaze up from the ground and managed to meet Coulson's before the tears suddenly came streaming down her cheeks; her hand flew up to her mouth to try and muffle the sobs that came next. In an instant Coulson was by her side, cautiously placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but didn't fully recoil away, and he started rubbing his thumb back and forth soothingly.

"I'm sorry Skye," Coulson murmured. "I'm so, so sorry."

She sniffled, pulling her hoodie sleeve over her palm and wiping tears off her face. Unconsciously, she'd leaned into Coulson's touch, letting the gentle, repetitive motion sooth the tumultuous churn of vibrations building inside of her. "I was told that SHIELD was the bad guys," she whispered, her voice as steady as she could make it. "And I always thought I was on my own, that no one was looking out for me. But… SHIELD was, or at least they were trying to, the whole time."

A shift in the man's vibrations betrayed slight surprise at this statement, but he didn't say anything else.

They sat together in a comfortable silence for a while afterwards. Coulson removed his hand once she'd stopped crying, instead sitting quietly next to her, offering friendly company so she wouldn't have to bear the newfound weight alone. Skye appreciated it – it was certainly strange, and different, and unlike anything she'd ever experienced before, but it was… nice.

Eventually, Coulson begrudgingly got up to check on the rest of the team – they were opening an investigation on a man by the name of Ian Quinn, who had been financially backing the device Donnie Gill and Seth Dormer built; and, apparently earlier the past few months had a concerning interest in Gravitonium (another substance, like Vibranium, that Skye had never come in contact with, and was undeniably interested in how her powers would react to it). He invited her upstairs, wondered if maybe she had any insight that might help, but she declined once more.

After everything he told her, she felt mentally drained and emotionally numb.

But the door was left open, the invitation always there for her should she choose to take it.

And after spending quite some time losing herself in the galaxies projected on the ceiling, she was starting to feel a little bit better, and after learning that SHIELD had genuinely been there for her this whole time, she decided it was time for her to pay her debts, starting with this team. Using her vibrational powers to, essentially, echolocate, she found everyone in the common room and found her way upstairs to regroup with them.

As she cautiously stepped into the room, everyone's surprise radiated off of them in waves that made her momentarily regret her decision. But Jemma quickly moved over and patted the seat next to her, and May headed to the stove to pour her a mug of tea. Skye accepted it graciously, sitting quietly and taking small sips as Coulson finished preparing dinner.

And it was nice. While she didn't participate much in the banter between Jemma, Fitz, and Ward, it was certainly entertaining to watch. And she was constantly fascinated by the group dynamics at play – both Coulson and May _and_ Fitz and Jemma operated very much as their own units, practically speaking the same language; the main difference being that Coulson and May had a more silent, understated communication and base level of understanding between them, while Fitz and Jemma finished each other's sentences and seemed to follow the exact same train of thought.

(Maybe Skye felt a little twinge of jealousy, watching Jemma interact with Fitz this way-)

The next few days she spent a little less alone; SHIELD agents had saved her life as a baby, and now this team was offering her the same protections and extension of friendship, and she was determined to show her appreciation, even if it was difficult for her. She was grateful that they all seemed to understand that Hydra's programming was so deeply ingrained in her mind that a lot of basic things that they did every single day without thinking about it felt like mountains to for her to scale, and that for the most part they did their best to respect her boundaries. But it was time for her to start reciprocating, to meet them halfway.

Each day she allowed herself to be a little bit braver. The next day she started small, eating dinner with the team again.

A day later, she spent some time after lunch sitting in the silence of the cockpit with May, letting the stoic woman's soothing vibrations wash over her in gentle, lapping waves. Skye found her way to her by searching for her specific frequency. If May was surprised when Skye knocked gently on the door and joined her in the passenger seat, she didn't show it, and her vibrations didn't either. Instead, May kept her gaze forward, focusing on the sky ahead and allowing a comfortable silence to settle between them.

Skye was almost upset with herself that she hadn't taken this opportunity sooner. May's vibrations were practically therapeutic, and the cockpit offered the most wonderful view of the sky. She could spend hours in that seat, getting lost in the clouds, watching the sun paint bright colors across the horizon.

May didn't seem to mind her presence one bit, either.

The day after she chose to join Coulson in his office. She'd stood by the open door and knocked softly a couple times to announce her presence. When he looked up from his work, he practically glowed with excitement. "Skye!" he'd said cheerfully. "Please, take a seat if you'd like. I'm working on some paperwork – pretty boring stuff if you ask me – but you're more than welcome to make yourself at home."

Skye offered him a wobbly smile as a thank you and took a seat on the opposite side of his desk. He flashed her a grin, bending down to open a drawer by his feet and extracted some candy, holding it out in an open palm towards her. "I don't tell just anyone about my stash," he told her with a wink, and she accepted the Twizzler, nibbling on the sweet licorice and savoring every bite, stamping down that annoying little voice that told her she didn't deserve it. Once it was gone, she occupied herself by tracing along the grain of wood on his desk with her fingertip and letting the vibrations bounce back at her while he worked. He offered a little bit of light conversation here and there, leaving it open if she had the energy to respond but not quite expecting her to either, which she appreciated.

The sound of her own voice still made her shudder with anticipation of an electrical shock, but she also knew that on this team it was encouraged for her to speak. She did her best to give nonverbal cues that she was listening – Coulson deserved so much more but seemed so happy with what little she could offer him.

Honestly, the fact that she'd even joined him at all seemed to brighten his mood.

One day later, she pushed herself a little out of her comfort zone and sat in the corner of the lab with Jemma and Fitz, watching quietly as they worked. This was definitely more stressful for her, as their vibrations were the most chaotic out of everyone's and the lab reminded her of _discovery_ -

-But nevertheless, she found herself enjoying their company. Jemma and Fitz worked very much the way they spoke – as a unit. They chattered back and forth, practically able to predict what the other would do at any given point in time, handing each other tools before asked and finishing each other's sentences with ease. They tried to explain some of what they were doing to Skye too, but it went right over her head.

At some points Skye even found herself entertaining some of the questions they had about _her_ as well. After all, what better way to practice speaking than to field a couple of inquisitive scientists?

"How do your powers work, anyway?" Jemma had asked her. "They're molecular, correct?"

Skye had nodded. "Molecular and seismic. Manipulating, sensing, generating."

Jemma's eyes nearly popped out of her head, and hurriedly she jotted down some notes.

"Are they a technological enhancement or part of your DNA?" Fitz followed up, his pitch rising with excitement that she was offering information freely.

"DNA," Skye clarified.

"Were you born with powers, or did they develop over time?" Jemma asked.

Tapping her fingertips against her lap in an attempt to calm the anxious vibrations that had started dancing on her skin, she said, without going into too much detail; "They were dormant for a while, then sort of developed all at once."

_The brown husk encased her body and crept up her neck, and her lungs seemed to deflate of all the oxygen she had as she realized that this was the end, this was her death, she'd traded in her freedom, let the white haired man with the round glasses drain all of the life from her body, and now she was going to die._

_Then suddenly, she was shaken free from her cocoon, and the whole world seemed to tremble around her, almost as if it feared that she would destroy it._

"Skye?"

Skye clamped back down on the tremors buzzing at her fingertips and looked back up at Jemma, who regarded her with a sad smile. "We don't have to keep talking about this," she apologized.

"It's okay," Skye told her. The last thing she wanted to do was disappoint the sweet Brit. "I don't mind."

Maybe not entirely truthful, but it was okay. She never really had been with anyone anyway.

Jemma thought for a moment. "Um, if you're comfortable answering… what _is_ the extent of your powers?" she asked gently. "Fitz and I had some running theories on what you could do. We've seen you create earthquakes and generate shockwaves, and more recently at the Academy, you manipulated the molecules in the ice to melt it down and free Donnie. Is there anything else you know you can do?"

_Stop a woman's heart-_

Skye shrugged, forcing the thought out of her head. "They didn't have me practice too much with stuff that wasn't shockwave or earthquake-based. Whenever I worked for them, that's all they wanted."

Fitz frowned. "Right. I suppose I never looked at it that way, but where you were must operate similarly to SHIELD. I don't suppose they paid you for the work you did?"

A wry, tired chuckle escaped Skye's lips, and in an almost snarky tone she said; "They let me live."

Jemma's hand flew to her mouth. "They let you- oh _love_." Her voice carried that pitiful, mournful tone that made Skye wince.

"Yeah, you were barely alive when we found you," Fitz remarked.

"Oh, Fitz!" Jemma scolded, shooting him a pointed look before glancing back over at Skye. Honestly, Skye just sort of found their reactions more humorous than anything else. Hesitantly, Jemma admitted; "…He's not wrong though."

Skye raised an eyebrow. Of course he wasn't – she'd been shot twice and had the shit kicked out of her, to put it bluntly. But she was still curious to hear Jemma's explanation (or maybe she just wanted to hear Jemma talk for a lengthy period of time).

"Well," Jemma started, glancing over at Fitz, "besides the obvious… _circumstantial_ conditions you were in, your blood glucose levels were so low you could have gone into a coma at any point in time. You also have osteoporosis due to malnutrition, which is only worsened by your quakes – you've got hundreds of microfractures that just simply healed wrong as well. Your blood pressure is dangerously low, your weight should certainly _not_ be in double digits… but, I mean, it's not all bad, you've healed quite rapidly and at this rate we can have you restored to full health in no time!"

Skye determined that as much as she enjoyed her time with Jemma and Fitz in the Lab, small doses were the way to go for now.

She concluded her experimental week by finding Ward down at the gym and watching him train from the corner. He hadn't shown himself to be a threat since that one incident, and Skye had good experiences with the rest of the team up until then, so she figured she'd test her luck.

(Plus, she could more thoroughly assess his threat level by studying his fighting style, just in case.)

His eyes flicked over in her direction in acknowledgement, but he said nothing, simply going about his workout, running a few laps around the gym to warm up before setting up the punching bag and starting to fall into a rhythm.

Skye noticed that the way he went about boxing was very different from how she'd been trained. She was told to focus on brute force and overtaking an opponent by being unpredictable. Ward, it seemed, had a very specific rhythm he followed, focusing on being more tactful with when and where he punched.

At one point, he turned towards her and tilted his head towards the punching bag – an invitation for her to jump in and try. A tremor rippled its way down her spine but she obediently stood, making her way across the mat to join him.

"Aren't you going to wrap your knuckles first?" he prompted.

She just looked at him quizzically. Her superiors had never had her do that before. She'd always trained with bare fists – the punching bags in Hydra's gym were permanently stained with her blood.

Ward grabbed some wrist tape off a shelf before crossing back over to her, instructing her to hold out her arms. She did as she was told, her hands trembling slightly at the close proximity. Ward was, thankfully, quick, and stepped away, allowing for a further distance between them for her comfort.

He gestured towards the punching bag, a quiet instruction to begin.

So she did.

He watched her for a few moments before grabbing the bag, stopping her. "You should widen your stance a little," he told her. "And keep yourself more grounded – keep your balance evenly distributed." Letting go, he told her to try again.

And she did, taking his corrections into account.

She grew exhausted quickly – usually she could go for hours, but after being practically benched for a couple weeks, it was no wonder she was getting soft. Ward told her to grab some water and sit down for a bit. "You did good," he told her gruffly, before teasingly adding, " _rookie_."

(There was certainly something to be said about being ruthlessly trained for six years in a rigorous facility, but she didn't feel like arguing. Between the two of them, she'd probably win a fight without her powers. But she was just grateful that the angry Grant Ward who had threatened her on her first day was nowhere to be found.)

At the very end of the week, after breakfast upstairs with the team, Coulson gathered them in the briefing room to go over the next operation.

They had managed to track down an invoice from one of Quinn Worldwide's subsidiaries – a ten-million-dollar purchase for something designed and built by Cybertek Inc. They'd also hired a private security outfit to transport the purchase consisting of former military and ex-mercenaries – which Ward had commented was "a lot of muscle to move one package."

Coulson expressed an interest in finding the Clairvoyant, who seemed to be behind everything. Upon Skye's confused expression – she'd heard of the Clairvoyant before, in the car on the way to Mindy's house, but she had absolutely no context for what that actually meant – he pulled her aside and quickly filled her in – from what they knew, the Clairvoyant was the one backing the Centipede Project, and seemed to be a running thread through a myriad of their operations. Raina mentioned the Clairvoyant, and now Quinn had too, which was certainly no coincidence.

That's how Skye had the sudden, crushing realization that Coulson had _no idea_ what he was up against.

Because she obviously _knew_ Raina, and she _knew_ that she was a major player in the Centipede Project, which she _knew_ was just an offshoot of a much larger corporation – Hydra – and she, honestly, couldn't remember a single time that Coulson had mentioned the organization by name, or even expressed the thought that Centipede was part of something even bigger.

(Though, his expression when talking about Centipede almost made her wonder if he was a few steps ahead of the game after all.)

Hydra pulled all of the strings practically everywhere. They lurked in the shadows and manipulated people and bought time and waited for the perfect moment to strike. Even _she_ had no clue how far their reach was.

All she knew was that Coulson was a good man in for a rude awakening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: March 8th 
> 
> (How’d we get to March again? When did this happen? Who let time pass? I’m so confused, genuinely, when did this happen?)


	10. Autonomy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe this chapter was fun :)

"Are you going to be alright?"

That was the last thing Skye expected as the team bustled about the plane, gathering everything they would need for the operation. May held a straight face, but her voice held a note of concern as she asked. Skye nodded numbly, taking comfort in her gentle, rhythmic vibrations. Next to her stood Coulson, who looked at her with the expression of a parent worried sick.

May studied her for a moment; her guarded expression said everything that Coulson verbalized. "If you are more comfortable staying on the Bus, that is more than okay. We absolutely understand that potentially being in such close proximity to your abusers will be very taxing for you."

Skye shifted, her skin prickling uncomfortably – whether the sensation was from the older agents' concern for her wellbeing or the realization of what they said actually dawning on her, she had no idea. Unconsciously, her hands met and started wringing each other; May's eyes flickered downwards at the movement and then back to Skye's face, and Skye felt all over again that the woman could see directly into her soul, rifling through all her deepest and darkest secrets.

Coulson and May exchanged a glance, their nonverbal communication speaking volumes. Skye pressed her lips together in what might resemble a smile. "I'll be fine," she managed to spit out (taking care to suppress the shudder that passed down her spine and the way her hair stood on end at the sound of her own terrible voice – _they don't punish you for speaking here, not yet anyway_ -)

May's eyebrow twitched minutely – Skye had _no_ idea what that meant.

"Are you sure?" Coulson asked.

Ah. That might have been what May's non-expression was saying.

Skye nodded. Of course she would be fine.

This was her job, after all.

She was _trained_ for things like this.

But Coulson and May didn't seem convinced – exchanging one more glance, all the while millions of words seemed to pass silently between them. Skye lifted her chin, stamping her emotions down and pushing them into the corner of her mind that hid everything else she'd boxed away.

_You are property. You follow orders._

_Do your job. No questions asked._

She was ready.

"Okay." May straightened up – any glimmer of concern that had been there was wiped away. Skye wondered if she had just witnessed May doing the exact same thing _she_ did. "Wheels up in five."

Coulson shot her one last reassuring glance – punctuated by May's curt nod – before the two took off, leaving Skye standing alone, her fingers twitching by her sides as she tried to sort her somewhat ambiguous orders in her head.

"Skye!"

She whirled around at the sound of a feminine, British voice. Jemma's lips were pulled effortlessly into her sweet smile, and Skye felt her shoulders relax. Fitz came up behind her, offering her a similar, toothy grin.

"Come on," he said, gesturing her to join them. "You and I are together. Let's get our story straight while Jem practices her backstory."

"Oh, undercover is so exciting!" Jemma was saying as the trio sat down and strapped in. "But quite nerve-wracking, I'll admit. I've never been one for acting on the spot."

Fitz cracked a humorous smile. "Jem's a terrible liar."

Jemma rolled her eyes. "I'm not a _terrible liar_ , I just... I _excel_ at preparation! Besides, I like following rules. It makes me feel nice! And lying makes me go all queasy."

The corners of Skye's mouth twitched as she imagined Jemma doing _anything_ remotely against the rules. She was such a lovely, sugary-sweet human being it was hard to even fathom her doing anything immoral or unethical.

"Now, should my mother be terminally ill or already deceased?" Jemma asked, her voice so genuinely serious that Skye had to stifle a snort. Ward let out an amused huff from the other side of the room.

Fitz just shook his head, turning his attention back to Skye. "Our first objective is to get the keys to the storage car. That way, we can set up comms and get everyone online undetected. Coulson suggested that our best bet might be as a couple, since we would never pass as siblings."

"You could, but you'd be adopted siblings," Ward supplied. "Though, the differing accents would make things difficult with that route."

"It's up to you," Fitz told Skye, not even acknowledging Ward. "Whatever you're comfortable with."

"But you made time for your work," Jemma suddenly shouted, her voice full of despair. Skye jumped in her seat, her breath catching in her throat. "And your _prostitutes_!"

"Jemma," Fitz sighed, casting a concerned glance swiftly in Skye's direction as she quickly fought to control herself once more (her hands trembled in her lap and she was quick to cross her arms to hide them). "Really?"

"Prostitutes? _Plural_?" Ward asked incredulously.

"It's more dramatic that way!" Jemma explained. "Besides, if one were to be having an affair, they wouldn't hire the same prostitute over and over, correct?"

"I… I wouldn't know." Fitz shook his head. "Ward might."

Ward raised an eyebrow. " _Excuse_ me?"

"How was it? Believable?" Jemma asked. "Be honest. Should I put more gusto into it?" She cleared her throat, raising her pitch to be a little more desperate. "And your _prostitutes_!"

One corner of Ward's mouth twitched in an almost mischievous side-smirk. "Definitely."

"Maybe a little bit angrier?" Fitz suggested. "Really _sell_ that resentment Jem."

She nodded enthusiastically. "Right, right. Let me try again..."

After all was said and done, that was how Skye ended up on a train in the Italian countryside, undercover, teamed with Fitz to run communications on the package they were tracking. They took their seats by a window with a clear view of the rest of the car.

"Nervous?" Fitz asked her after a beat upon noticing her relentless tapping on the windowsill.

She shrugged, batting a swift glance around the car before giving him a quick nod – they'd made some strides within the past week, and she supposed if she hadn't been punished for anything yet, a little bit of honesty wouldn't hurt.

"Me too," he admitted. He lowered his voice, leaning a bit closer. "Quinn's got connections to Centipede - where you came from. I promise you, we won't let them get to you again."

She knew he meant to be reassuring, but it only made the vibrations buzzing under her skin spike momentarily before she quickly quelled them once more. May and Coulson had expressed the same concern – clearly it was a major possibility.

And… Fitz thought she was _exclusively_ from Centipede.

(Again, their lack of awareness regarding Hydra was concerning to say the _absolute_ least… and maybe a little baffling?)

"So, are we American or British?"

He caught her completely off-guard with that question. "I- _What_?" she sputtered before she could properly reign herself in.

"Well, we're travelling together, we might as well be from the same country," Fitz reasoned.

Skye nodded slowly. A good point for sure, but she wasn't certain she could muster up the energy to fake a Scottish accent to match his – not that her attempt would be any good. Hydra barely let her speak as it was, let alone practice ways to make any accent she tried sound convincing enough.

Upon noticing her hesitation, he said (in a pretty flawless American accent, she'd admit); "American then."

She smiled. Hearing Fitz speak in an American accent was, oddly, very funny.

He chuckled. "I used to watch a lot of American TV growing up," he explained, noting her amusement. "Some of it's really good. Lots of nice teeth!" As one of the attendants made his way down the aisle, he quickly switched back to business. "Here he comes, okay, you ready? I can lead if you-"

Without missing a beat, and not letting him finish, Skye stood, pulling a travel brochure out of her bag. "Excuse me?" she asked the attendant sweetly. "Do you speak English?"

"Of course," he told her enthusiastically. "How may I be of service?"

She cast a swift side glance over in Fitz's direction – he gave her a reassuring nod before getting to his feet, and she turned back to the attendant, the grin she'd plastered on her face never faltering. "Can you recommend a restaurant in downtown Zagreb?"

"Someplace affordable with big portions," Fitz jumped in, using his (very comical) American accent. Skye nodded in agreement.

"You are looking for something romantic?" the attendant asked.

"Yes, please!" Skye gasped excitedly, grabbing Fitz's hand and giving it a squeeze. They'd agreed earlier that the best way for them to act like a natural couple was if _she_ initiated any and all physical contact – whatever she was comfortable with. "We are celebrating our six-month anniversary with a whirlwind trip all over Europe." The attendant smiled brightly, and she elaborated. "Well, technically we _met_ six months ago, but he didn't ask me out until last month, so our _official_ one-month anniversary isn't until next Saturday!" She leaned in closer to the attendant, reaching around him for his keys. "I think he found me intimidating."

With the keys secured, the pair made their way towards the back of the train to the storage car. "A fine job!" Fitz praised her as he shut the door behind him. She flashed him a quick smile.

"You weren't so bad yourself," she mused – bad word choice, awful word choice, _be quiet_ , she gritted her teeth and waited and waited and it was coming-

But Fitz just chuckled as he set his stuff down. "You know, I actually have a device that could have done all those things – broken the lock and all that."

She raised an eyebrow, unable to wipe the smirk off her face. "You do?"

"I'm always the gadget guy," Fitz elaborated. "Sometimes I want to do things with my bare hands."

"I- Don't you _make_ the gadgets with your bare hands?"

"Just allow me these rare moments of self-pity, okay?" Skye felt her muscles tense up, but Fitz quickly glanced back up at her and shot her a goofy grin, and she allowed herself to relax once more. He wasn't upset, he was _joking_ with her. "You're the _least_ supportive pretend girlfriend I've _ever_ had."

She'd have to get used to that, for sure.

(She really, honestly appreciated that Fitz didn't tiptoe around her like the others did – as much as she appreciated that they cared, it was nice to have someone speak to her in a way that made her feel _equal_. Not that she didn't feel like an equal with May or Coulson or Jemma, but they always sort of gave off the impression that they viewed Skye as _fragile_ , and while Skye was aware that her mental state was less than ideal, she also knew that she was more than capable.)

Skye watched curiously as Fitz set up comms, then spoke into them; "Comms are live – Coulson, Simmons, you guys in position?"

Coulson's voice crackled in – "Yes, just waiting for May's signal."

Fitz sat back in his seat. "I guess now we just wait."

Skye nodded, glancing over at him before casting her gaze back towards the monitors he set up, her eyes sweeping across all of the information, trying to make sense of it all. Fitz looked back over at her curiously.

"You know anything about comp sci?" he asked. She shrugged in response. "I could teach you some things if you want. When Kalmowitz was on the team, he was brought in as a comp sci specialist – legal hacking, I suppose you could call it. He was a genius. I'm very proficient myself of course but certainly not a hacker of his caliber. I figure if you're sticking around it might be helpful for you to learn some new skills – not that you're not useful as it is, I just mean like, there are ways to be a good agent without having to fight all the time."

Skye hadn't truly considered it before – both a permanent (or semi-permanent) position at SHIELD _or_ the idea of not having to fight in order to be an agent. She was still navigating the notion that maybe she _didn't_ want to die after all, and that maybe there was more out there for her than life (and death) in Hydra, so she hadn't even considered the possibility that this team actually wanted her to stick around – or that maybe, that didn't sound half bad.

Then again… Skye was still waiting for the rug to be ripped from right under her feet. This team was too good to be true, and she didn't do anything to deserve the break they'd been giving her. If she wanted to stay – and maybe she did – she had to _earn_ it.

_You earn everything in this life._

But looking at Fitz's hopeful expression, and the way he was so willing to teach her… she nodded. "Yeah, that'd be cool. I'd like that."

"You would!" He sounded almost surprised, quickly clearing his throat. "Uh… right. Yes. We can start when we get back to the Bus, I'll teach you some basics. Just, don't tell Jemma, she'll turn it into an entire curriculum and treat it like an Academy course." He laughed at his own joke, but quickly fell silent when he realized Skye wasn't laughing with him. She smiled to herself, dropping her gaze and picking at her nails.

The two fell into a comfortable silence for a while after that, listening in on the rest of the team and monitoring the feed. The vibrations on the train were a lot to handle, so Skye was grateful for the mental break – and it gave her a chance to try and make sense of Fitz's frequency. She'd originally pegged it for an organized chaos, haphazard and a bit jarring, but now, sitting alone with him and honing in on just his vibrations, she realized it was just a bit of an abnormal pattern - an offbeat, but still consistent nonetheless. Perhaps around the rest of the team it spiked up the way it had before, but now it seemed to settle into its own rhythm.

The sound of an Italian woman's lilting voice jolted her out of her thoughts. It crackled over the P.A. system, tinny in sound, announcing to the passengers on the north side of the train to look out the window at the sights.

"I wish we had more time to take in the scenery," Fitz sighed as the woman continued. "Three peaks of Lavaredo; supposed to be _stunning_."

A thought dawned on her as she focused on the black briefcase on the monitor. "Any chance that what's in there could be an 0-8-4?"

It was worth a shot. And if it was, then she'd gain intel on what being an 0-8-4 actually really _meant_ for her, and how SHIELD dealt with them.

(And, subsequently, what was in store for her.)

"This?" He pointed to the monitor – Skye nodded to confirm. "We may not know what it is, but we do know it came from Cybertek. An 0-8-4 would have an unknown origin."

She frowned. "Right."

"We found one in Peru a while back," Fitz continued. "A machine."

Her muscles tensed up. Peru. The 0-8-4.

Sand and heat and her superior standing over her demanding her to _keep going, don't ever stop until I tell you to._ Her lungs filling with dust and blood running from her nose and the current of vibrational energy rattling her bones as she worked to take an entire temple crumbling to the ground. And Coulson and May and innocent civilians and _next time you hesitate_ -

She shivered, pushing those thoughts aside before she could entertain them any longer. That was in the past.

This was now.

"Could… could an 0-8-4 ever be a _person_?" she asked, steadying the tremor that remained in her voice.

Fitz thought for a moment. "I've read about all kinds of 0-8-4s; weapons, spacecrafts, energy sources, machines… I suppose a person could be one, yeah. I'd hate to meet the guy though. The one thing 0-8-4s seem to have in common is that they're dangerous."

Skye nodded to herself, dropping her gaze back to her raw fingernails. "Right."

"Hey." She looked up. "Don't worry about this. Whatever the package is, we'll deal with it together. We've got each other's backs."

Skye flashed him a quick, feeble smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Before either of them could say anything else, static broke them out of their thoughts, and Fitz quickly pulled his attention back to the monitors. "Woah, May's goggles went offline, when did that happen?" Tuning into the comms, he called, "May, do you copy?"

Skye's heartrate shot up, and unconsciously she started tabbing her fingers against her knees.

"All comms and phones are dead," Fitz observed. "Someone's using some sort of electronic scrambler." He stopped, his eyes widening. "Cybertek knows we're here."

Blood roared in Skye's ears. If Cybertek knew they were on the train, what did that mean for her team? What about her? Were they taking her back? She could fight, she could stay-

They'd shock her and restrain her, they could still do that, she wasn't ever truly free, god she was so stupid, she would _never truly be free_ -

"Skye, Skye, come back to me, stay with me." Fitz started to reach out to Skye, but she unconsciously flinched away, and he retracted his hand. "Skye. Focus on your breathing."

In one, rushed out breath, Skye whispered, "we have to warn the team-"

And it was at that moment that the door burst open.

Skye's chest constricted and her head spun and somewhere among the haphazard cacophony of vibrations and overbearing sounds of a gun firing she could hear a Scottish voice yelling at her to get down. Tremors rippled under her skin, and what felt like ocean waves battered against her skull as she ducked into a corner, her lungs screaming for air as her breaths shallowed.

"Skye!"

Fitz.

She stopped for a moment, gathering all of the energy she possibly could to try and ground herself back in reality. Focusing in on the onslaught of gunshots, she located the man who had opened fire.

With a deep breath, she pulled all of her nerves together, spun around the corner, and released a shockwave right at the man, knocking him down.

Fitz let out a sigh of relief, standing up from where he'd taken cover. Admiration shone in his eyes, but they couldn't breathe for long – the man was quick to get back up to his feet, and he lunged for Fitz, who dodged out of the way and shot his foot out to trip the man. He stumbled, but whirled around and landed a punch, knocking Fitz back. Skye shivered, mentally preparing herself to use her powers again, and just as she lifted her hand, the door burst open once more and a British voice rang out, "we've been made!"

"Jemma!" Fitz cried.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Jemma sputtered as the man whirled around. A high-pitched whirring filled the car, and Skye quickly pinpointed a new mechanical frequency – a small device in the man's hand.

Before any of them could react, the man had grabbed Jemma, the device went off, and both of them collapsed to the ground.

"Oh my god, Jemma," Fitz gasped, running towards her. Skye followed suit, her chest tightening as terror took grip of her lungs once more. She dropped to her knees, hovering her hand over Jemma; relief washed over her as she felt Jemma's familiar vibrational frequency pulsing under her skin.

"She's alive," she breathed. "She's okay."

Fitz let out a shaky breath. "Good. Good, okay." He came towards her. "Hold her up."

Together, they laid Jemma down carefully. Fitz stopped, taking in the navy blue streaks that were disappearing on Jemma's skin. "I… I think this is some form of dendrotoxin," he figured. "That's the stuff we use in the night-night gun. But this version is clearly evolved… I think they made it airborne." He gently closed Jemma's eyes before straightening up. "We need to get out of here."

"What about Jemma?" Skye asked, cringing at how small and nervous her voice sounded. _Get it together, don't show weakness-_

"We can't just leave her here," Fitz said. "But we need find the others and figure out what to do next. Come on, help me move her." As they got into position, he added humorously, "look at her little face, she'd be so embarrassed."

"We should leave her with something to protect herself, just in case," Skye added, a shiver running down her spine as she imagined more guys coming in while Simmons was still unconscious- or her being left defenseless- and what they would do with her- oh god what if they took her and they-

"Skye," Fitz murmured. "Breathe."

Right. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to count the seconds as she inflated and deflated her lungs.

"I have a spare," Fitz added, grabbing an extra night-night gun from his stuff and slipping it into Jemma's fingers, tucking it against her protectively.

"And him?" Skye nodded to the man on the ground, also unconscious.

Fitz smirked. "I'll take care of him. Are you okay to go find the others?" She nodded (her stomach flipped), and she spun on her heel and headed for the door. "Skye!" He nodded reassuringly towards her as she stopped and turned back. "Deep breaths. I have your back."

She bobbed her head in response (her hands trembled by her sides) and returned a feeble smile (her chest was tight and her head was still a little foggy). Taking a moment to brace herself, she left the storage car behind.

Plastering a smile on her face, she weaved her way through the train cars, scanning for any signs of Coulson, May, or Ward. As she made her way from one car to the next, she could feel eyes on her back, like someone, or a collective, was watching her – or maybe it was just her own paranoia. She couldn't be too sure. Skye kept her hands in fists, digging her nails into her palms to keep herself grounded, all the while anxious vibrations bubbled beneath her skin.

But her chest deflated as she made her way to the final car and she realized that not a single face in the train had been familiar.

Biting down on her cheek, she found her way to the bathroom, closed the door behind her, and counted to one hundred, making sure to take a breath or let it out every fifth number. Then, once she'd reached one hundred, she slid the door open and made her way back to the storage car, scanning each face once more just to be sure she hadn't missed anything.

Fitz whipped around as she opened the door and let herself back in. He sighed in relief once he realized it was just her, then closed the top of the wooden crate he had been standing over. "Any sign of them?" Skye shook her head numbly. "What about Cybertek?" She shook her head again – she couldn't be too sure, but she hadn't recognized anyone from her time at Hydra _or_ from the briefing.

Fitz cast a quick glance towards the door before making his way to the window, huffing on the glass and wiping away the steam so he could peer through. Outside, several adults were gathered, dressed professionally and chatting amongst themselves. Skye's eyes landed on one man who carried a black briefcase. Almost immediately following her revelation, Fitz breathed, "that's our package." They watched for a beat as a woman took it and placed it in the back of a car. "What do we do? We're the only ones left."

Skye frowned. "Do you have an extra tracker?" she asked.

"Of course."

"Then we follow them," Skye murmured.

"Skye?"

She looked over – concern was written all over Fitz's face.

"Look, I know in Centipede you were trained to push through," he told her gently. "To not show weakness, follow orders and all that. But here, it's different. Coulson wouldn't want you to put yourself in danger for an op."

"It's… it's not just about that," Skye explained, heat rising to her cheeks as she dropped her gaze. "This is important to Coulson."

"Yes, but it puts us at risk," Fitz argued. "It puts _you_ at risk, more than anything."

Skye wasn't sure what the issue was. This had never been a problem in the past.

_Sand in her throat and blood streaming from her nose and her teeth chattering and her bones rattling and don't stop, keep going, take the temple down-_

_And fire burning straight for her, singing her hair and smoke filling her lungs and he kept advancing and she did too, take him down, do what is necessary-_

"Are we doing this?" she asked, breaking herself out of her own thoughts. She had to do this for _Coulson_ , she had to repay the man who had saved her life – the one who was giving her a second chance. Fitz held her gaze for a moment before letting out a soft sigh.

"I have your back," he promised her, his voice full of resolve. "We have each other's backs."

Skye nodded in response. "Let's go."

She hadn't realized how oppressive the walls of the train had felt until they were back out in the open – fresh air filled her lungs, and a crisp breeze kissed her cheeks. The sun beamed bright overhead and puffy white clouds painted the horizon and if Skye wasn't on a mission she would love to just run through the grass for hours.

Instead, she followed Fitz as they trailed behind the Centipede vehicles.

The cars pulled up to a huge mansion, far out of the way of civilization. Fitz stopped short, ducking behind a hedge, and Skye found herself shrinking back and pressing herself against him. He cast a quick glance down at her before gently placing his hand on her back reassuringly. "It's not too late to turn back," he told her gently. "Find Coulson and May, regroup."

She shook her head, stepping away from him and straightening up.

She had to do this.

"Coulson was right," Fitz observed. "Cybertek led is straight to Quinn."

"Activate the tracker – let them know we're here," Skye murmured, suddenly very aware that _she_ was giving _him_ orders. Her skin prickled uncomfortably, and she glanced over at him to make sure he hadn't taken it wrong. He simply nodded and pressed the button.

But he suddenly was studying her very closely, watching as her muscles tensed and her fingers twitched by her sides, her gaze narrowing as she sized up the mansion. "You want to go in." It was a statement, not a question. She nodded but didn't respond. "Skye, Coulson wouldn't want you putting yourself in danger for the sake of the team-"

"I'm not letting him get away," Skye explained. "Coulson wouldn't want us to let that happen."

Fitz sighed. "I know I can't convince you out of this." He placed his bag down and started to unzip it. "I suppose you're right though. Let's do it."

"Could you… could you disable their cars?" Skye asked him.

"With my bare hands."

Of course. The corners of Skye's mouth lifted at the Scottish scientist's confidence. He pulled out one of the night-night guns and offered it to her. "Take this."

"You'll need it out here," she reasoned. "Besides, I have my powers, I'll be okay."

"Just take it," Fitz urged. "Please?"

"You need it more," she said, shaking her head.

"Fine," he sighed. "Just… just be careful, okay? Get out if you're in danger. I'm serious Skye."

She nodded. "You too," she told him honestly.

They held each other's gaze for a beat; Fitz's eyes glimmered with determination and he nodded at her reassuringly. For that moment, Skye felt her nerves wash away – was this what it was like to have a team? To have people by her side who had her back?

A… _friend_?

Fitz held his hand out to her and after a moment of hesitation she took it. He gave hers a gentle squeeze. "Breathe," he reminded her. "We've got this."

And then, he stood, and took off towards the cars.

And Skye sat in the grass for a moment more, quelling the sudden rise in her vibrations before heading around the back of the mansion.

Almost immediately she was met with one of the Centipede workers, and instantly she raised her hand and quaked him out of the way, knocking him against the wall. He slumped down, unconscious, and she took a deep breath.

_One down._

_You are Quake, you follow orders._

Taking the steps two at a time, she made for the door; once inside, she scanned the mansion for vibrational energy to get her bearings.

For now, she was good.

She made her way through the corridors, her hands twitching by her sides, ready to quake anyone who was in her way.

"Find Mr. Quinn, tell him his purchase is downstairs," a voice echoed down the hall. Skye stopped in her tracks and ducked around the corner, waiting until she was certain the vibrations of the two people were gone before continuing.

Downstairs. The package was downstairs.

She made it to the door.

Every muscle in her body screamed _wrong wrong WRONG_ but Skye swallowed, gritting her teeth and pushing through with every little step she took. This was her mission – this was what they needed her for. Her job was to get in and get out, find the package and return to the team.

These were her _orders_.

And her job was to _follow orders, nothing more, nothing less_.

(But that wasn't right, not exactly, not anymore. Her superi- _Coulson_ , _just Coulson_ , had never outright _ordered_ her to push forward if it got to this point. That had been her own instincts. So technically, being down here was a direct violation of _everything_ she was supposed to be.)

(But she knew this meant a lot to Coulson, and Coulson sort of maybe meant something to her – that perhaps this _whole team_ meant something to her.)

So Skye took a deep breath, and twisted the doorknob with a trembling, clammy hand.

Golden light filtered through one little window, illuminating a strange chamber in the corner of the room as well as the package she sought. A lump rose in Skye's throat, her chest tightening up and little skittish vibrations bouncing between her fingertips. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder just to be sure, she approached the package – this is what she was here for, grab it and get out.

But-

Her eyes wandered over to the chamber in the corner, painted in a chiaroscuro of golden evening sunlight and dingy dark shadows. It glistened invitingly, begging her to take a look.

Coulson would want to know, right? He'd want her to take a look. He'd been encouraging her this whole time – inviting her to explore the Bus and practically begging her to join the team. It wouldn't hurt, just a peek-

But _that's not your choice, you don't get to choose-_

(But Coulson _wanted_ her to choose, didn't he?)

Skye let a shiver travel down her spine and with one last glance at the package, she turned her attention to the chamber. Slow, tiny steps brought her towards it, her muscles tensed and ready to quake if need be. As she approached, she peered down into the window, her stomach twisting at the sight.

Mike Peterson.

In the flesh.

(The last time she'd seen him was on the bridge, when she was shot, before she was with SHIELD-)

(Her breath caught in her throat as a phantom shock crackled in her neck because _she disobeyed she shouldn't be here misdemeanor follow orders_ -)

Unconsciously she reached up and rubbed the back of her neck, shaking her head and reminding herself to stay steady, to keep her anxious tremors at bay. Breathe, like Fitz told her to. It was just her mind, she told herself. It was just her mind playing tricks on her.

They weren't really here, telling her what to do.

(But if Peterson was here-)

He looked _awful_ , Skye realized upon closer look. Nasty burns stretched across his face and down his neck. His eyes were dark and baggy, a perpetual exhaustion that his chamber-induced slumber couldn't fix. Skye reached a trembling hand and traced the glass with her fingertips. She could break him out, she realized. She could crack the glass and bring him with her-

"Hello, _Quake_."

Skye's breath snagged in her throat and she whirled around, her arm whipping out in front of her and her fingers outstretched, ready to quake. The man was unfamiliar, but he held a gun and bore a cocky smirk that was reminiscent of Hydra.

Her blood turned to ice.

And before she could even think or react, another man emerged from the dark and grabbed her by her neck, pointing a gun at her with his free hand.

A cry escaped her lips and she writhed in his grip, caught completely off guard.

(How hadn't she felt their vibrations? How could she be so _stupid_?)

"Well, this is certainly interesting!" the man hummed, the corners of his mouth twitching. "I don't believe we've met, but I've heard a _lot_ about you. Look Mancini, it's _Quake_!" The other man – Mancini, she figured – let out a snarky chuckle. "The Clairvoyant told me to expect you."

"Hey Quinn, looks like SHIELD has their own version of a super soldier now," Mancini mused. Skye gritted her teeth, her muscles tensing and her fingers twitching with the urge to quake them both away. She could – she _should_ – but she couldn't bring herself to; it was like the vibrations were backed up, frozen and building up behind a wall of compliance instilled in her.

Quinn stepped closer, his hot breath beating against Skye's skin. "You know, I heard about the stunt you pulled on the bridge. You really thought you were some sort of noble hero, didn't ya? You must think you're some hotshot now that you're with SHIELD." Quinn clicked his tongue, stepping back towards Mike's chamber. "Your handler's been dealt with by the way, for letting you slip away like that. The Clairvoyant was _less than pleased_."

Skye suppressed a shudder, and Mancini tightened his grip on her neck, clearly feeling some of the nervous vibrations tingling on her skin. "Don't you dare," he warned.

Quinn huffed humorously, tapping the glass. "You know, you guys have been looking at us, but we've been looking at you. And we've found a handful of some particularly interesting things." Skye watched cautiously as he opened the hyperbaric chamber. It gave a little _hiss_ as it came loose, and Quinn pulled Mike out.

Skye's breath caught in her throat again as she laid eyes on him fully – he was missing half of his leg.

(Her fault, it _had_ to be her fault that he was like this, disfigured and permanently impaired and it was her fault her fault _her fault_ -)

Mike's eyes fluttered open, and groggily he started stirring, sitting upright and blinking blearily at his surroundings.

Skye stood, frozen in place and unable to peel her eyes off of him.

Quinn glanced over at her, then at him, then her again. "Do you guys know each other?" he asked. "Have you formally met? Quake, Mike Peterson. Mike, Quake. That's it. Just _Quake_." He turned his attention to Mike. "Hey, do you know who I am?"

Mike nodded slowly, glowering at Quinn.

"And you have your orders?" Quinn asked expectantly.

Mike dropped his gaze, responding with a defeated nod.

Quinn straightened up, smiling contentedly. "Good, because I recently purchased something that's gonna… help you complete them," he chuckled, taking the gun from Mancini, who crossed over to the other side of the room. Skye cocked her head, confused, studying every miniscule movement Mike made; all the while making sure to keep Quinn in her peripheral, and tracking Mancini's vibrations carefully as he moved around in the shadows. She wasn't about to let anything go undetected again, although it was, admittedly, a lot to keep track of and a lot to take in. Mike grunted almost painfully as he sat upright. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze sweeping over her almost accusingly.

Skye's chest burned and tightened – she suddenly realized that she hadn't been breathing, and sucked in a wheezy inhale, hoping the oxygen would quell the vibrations building inside of her. Mike didn't speak, but the way he looked at her said enough; after all, the few times she'd seen him, she had been taking down a building he'd jumped out of, tailing him at Union Station in a futile attempt to bring him back to Hydra, and threatening to kill his child on a bridge.

She clamped down on a tremor that simmered under her skin, remembering Ace's bright, inquisitive brown eyes, how he'd offered her his Black Widow action figure, the way he'd asked her to be his friend after she'd-

 _Shit_ , she killed Mike's sister, too-

Her breaths shuddered in her chest, and she opened her mouth, trying to find her voice but unable to even begin to form any words. All of her thoughts balled up in the back of her throat, a confusing, jumbled mess of incoherent thoughts she couldn't make sense of.

Instead, she dropped her gaze, finding herself unable to look at him any longer.

But Mancini's return drew her attention once more. He crouched in front of Mike, fitting his leg with some sort of tech. Mike glared back up at her and she flinched, keeping her gaze fixated on whatever Mancini was doing. When Mancini was done, he took a few steps back and directed Mike to stand.

Mike complied, hobbling a bit to get his balance on one leg – but suddenly, the device clicked and whirred, and Mike cried out in pain. Skye watched, her stomach twisting in horror as the tech grew and adjusted and eventually formed a leg.

Mike gasped for breath, recovering from the pain, and Skye watched him warily.

"Mancini, thank you. You will be receiving your payment shortly."

Mike's eyes darted from Skye to Quinn, then back at Skye. She, on the other hand, couldn't drag her attention away from him, her gaze numbly sweeping him up and down in disbelief and horror.

"That is the best money can buy, my friend," Quinn announced to Mike, almost showman-like. "Every piece of technology in you is top of the line." He narrowed his eyes. "I just wonder if I'm getting my money's worth. I know you get your orders from the Clairvoyant, so that means you're not allowed to hurt me, right?"

Skye frowned, biting the inside of her cheek.

"No," Quinn answered for him, cocking his gun and pointing it at him. "What if I tried to hurt you? Would you stop me?"

Mike looked down at it, almost as if he was considering, before looking back up and responding with finality, "no, I would not."

Of course not, Skye reasoned (though her legs trembled beneath her). She had never tried to stop her superiors from hurting _her_ – she was below them, after all, and she was their property, and it was her role to do as they said and take punishment when she didn't. Perhaps that was what was happening here – Mike was now their property.

(The very thought made her sick to her stomach – the role of "property" was something she would never wish on anyone.)

But she hadn't been so submissive when Hydra had first taken her - that had taken _years_ of conditioning - and she had been much younger than Mike was now, more impressionable. She wondered what was different between the two of them that would make him act this way.

Quinn placed the gun in Mike's hand and guided it towards Skye. "And… what if I wanted you to hurt _her_? You know… _kill_ her."

This wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. Skye had stared the barrel of a gun head on plenty of times – the last time, she'd begged for it to fire.

But somehow, this felt much different, and Skye inhaled sharply, her breath catching in her throat. Her whole body trembled, her stomach churning with anxious anticipation.

_Coulson. May. Simmons. Fitz._

"Will you?" Quinn dared Mike. "I mean, what would hurt Agent Coulson more than to lose his pet project?"

Skye's stomach flipped.

They knew.

Of _course_ they knew – how wouldn't they? They had Raina and security footage and access to endless resources that they'd been watching SHIELD with. Of _course_ they knew where she was this whole time – of _course_ they'd been tracking her, and she was only endangering the team being here because she had Fitz activate the tracker and now the team was probably on their way and oh god, what had she done-

And if she made it out of here alive because _theywouldneverletherdie_ , then she'd have their deaths on her hands.

_Coulson and May and Simmons and Fitz-_

But Mike's voice shook. "Those aren't my orders." He handed the gun back to Quinn. "She's not who I'm supposed to kill."

He turned and started towards the door. Without thinking, Skye took a few strides after him, not entirely sure how to react. "Mike-" she started, but he was gone too fast for her to think of what to say.

She stopped, staring at the doorway for a moment, before suddenly alarm bells rang in her head because _her back was to the enemy don't ever turn your back to the enemy_ and she whirled around, almost disoriented by her carelessness and feeling a bit like a fish out of water because _her superior wasn't here to tell her what to do and she didn't have orders and where had her instincts gone why wasn't she being sensible what was happening why why why-_

And a gunshot rang out and suddenly pain exploded in her abdomen and she didn't believe it at first. Her hand flew to her stomach and she stared at Quinn, her head whirling and her chest aching for air.

And Quinn just stared back at her, intrigued and maybe even a little confused.

Skye lowered her gaze town to her hand, removing it from her stomach and not quite registering the crimson streaks painted across her palm. Bleary eyed, she looked back up in Quinn's direction, the silhouette of the man hazy and wavering.

"I thought you would be better than this," he said, his brow furrowing. "But… you're just a kid." He pulled her close, and she was too shell-shocked to do anything about it as he fired another shot into her stomach, lowering her down to the floor. "I'm sorry," he told her softly. "You didn't deserve this – any of it. And I have my orders too."

Footsteps. Ringing in her ears. The sound of a door clicking shut.

The cold, hard ground beneath her.

Blood rising in her throat. She gagged, wheezing and gasping for breath.

_She wasn't ready to die._

Her entire stomach was on fire. Her limbs heavy and weak.

Water sloshed around her skull. The room spun.

_She wasn't ready to die, not yet, there was so much more-_

_Breathe- Breathe-_

_We have your back-_

And a fog seemed to settle in the room-

But she had to try-

_She wasn't ready-_

_Coulson and May-_

_Simmons- Fitz-_

Her muscles screamed in pain as she pulled herself towards the door-

_Not yet-_

_Please-_

_Not yet-_

She wanted to see them again-

 _Please_ -

Breathe-

Breathe-

Keep breathing-

Help-

Please-

She didn't want-

It wasn't-

Coulson-

May?-

_Help?-_

_Please?-_

Ringing and-

Haze and-

Darkness and-

_Please-_

_Please-_

_Please-_

_Help?-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next update: march 22 
> 
> love you guys <3


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